


Abyssal Peach and the Spun Sugar Seasons

by Byacolate, mywordsflyup



Series: Salted Caramel [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bad Taste, Baking, Cooking, Established Relationship, Food, Good Taste, Gourmet Felix, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Meet the Family, Meeting the Parents, Protectiveness, Simple Ferelden Taste Buds Carver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-14 11:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5742064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felix Alexius is a gourmand. Carver Hawke is... not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snakepapa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakepapa/gifts).



> I wanted to dedicate this monster to [Kaiti](http://kidneypunches.tumblr.com) because without her, mywordsflyup's epiphany would never have existed, and neither would my constant need to pester her for more.
> 
> The other day I put forth that fancy pants Felix seemed like the type to appreciate the finer foods in life, and probably had a great palate to work from; then, that Super Ultra Mabari Warrior Carver probably had the taste buds of a seven-year-old. mywordsflyup agreed. Now we're over 20,000 words into this mess.
> 
>  
> 
> Please check out [THE CUTEST ART BY KIDNEYPUNCHES!!](http://kidneypunches.tumblr.com/post/137845934732/ummm-are-you-reading-salted-caramel-by)

“Felix.” Dorian's tone is grave. “You deserve better.”

 

“Really,” Bethany agrees, just as dire. “He’s my brother and I love him, but I also know him best. Believe me when I say, it’s more than you should have to take.”

 

Felix can’t help himself, shaking with laughter while he stirs. Dorian wrests the wooden spoon from his hands and samples a spoonful for himself. “Oh, Felix,” he breathes. “Saffron cauliflower soup?”

 

“With pine nuts,” Felix answers, taking his spoon back. Bethany makes a mournful noise at the kitchen table.

 

“Oh, Felix,” she parrots. “He’s going to make a _face_.”

 

“I like his faces,” Felix says, stirring again.

 

“And what’s this?” Dorian tuts, lifting a bowl of homemade sauce from the counter.

 

“Mint, goat cheese, and Rivaini yogurt, for the vegetables. He likes vegetables,” Felix says absently, testing the soup for himself. Bethany gasps at the table behind him.

 

“Ooh, let me taste!” Presumably, Dorian hands it over, because seconds later she’s groaning. “ _Felix_. He doesn’t deserve you. Come live with me instead. Cook full time. _I’d_ appreciate you.”

 

“Nonsense,” Dorian tuts, and returns with the bowl. “I wouldn’t lose my personal chef - ah, pardon me - my dear friend for anything in the world. Not even you.”

 

Felix turns around just in time to see Bethany stick out her tongue and laughs again. “Carver appreciates my food just as much as you do. He just has… a different taste.”

 

“You made him a paella and he fished out the seafood,” Bethany deadpans.

 

“In his defense,” Felix says, “I should have asked him if he liked shellfish. I just assumed because he said he liked fish…”

 

“Fish _fingers_.”

 

Dorian makes a noise not unlike someone who’s just been shot in the kneecap. “Of all the men you could have chosen, Felix. All the men in the world and you choose this Fereldan barbarian…”

 

“I’m his twin and I wouldn’t even argue with that,” Bethany laments.

 

“You're both awful,” Felix says and whacks Dorian’s hand lightly with his spoon when he tries to steal one of the croutons for the soup. “At least with Carver I don’t have to worry about being exploited for my cooking skills.”

 

“Now, Felix,” Dorian tuts. “Let’s not say things we’ll regret.”

 

“Let’s not eat away all of dinner before it’s served,” Felix retorts, lowering the heat and leaving the pot to simmer. He opens the oven to check the chicken, and the rich scent of it wafts through the kitchen on a wave. Both Dorian and Bethany seem to melt.

 

“What is _that?”_ Bethany sighs. Dorian, however, shoots him an affronted stare.

 

“That’s his signature roast chicken,” he says, tone sombre. “Apple-glazed.”

 

“ _Felix_.”

 

He looks over his shoulder. Bethany’s wearing sad puppy eyes. “He’s going to make a _face_.”

 

“Who’s making faces?”

 

Felix shuts the oven before he straightens up and turns to greet Carver in the doorway. He’s damp from the drizzle outside, and when he drags a hand through his hair, it stays up.

 

“I like your faces,” Felix says, wiping his hands off on a kitchen towel as he moves closer. It’s no less true when the man himself is in the room than it is when he's out.

 

Carver leans down to oblige him with a kiss, brow furrowed. “Why’m I making faces?” he asks.

 

“That’s quite what we were wondering,” Dorian says, lifting the lid off the soup to give it a little stir.

 

“They're saying you don’t appreciate my cooking enough,” Felix says and leans against Carver’s side for a moment.

 

Carver’s scowl is rather impressive. “Did you tell them I went out to get you more of that saffron stuff? In the rain? How's that for appreciative?” He pulls a tiny glass vial out of the pocket of his jacket and holds it up for the others to see.

 

“You are truly a saint,” Bethany says and Carver glowers at her from the door. Felix is quick to pluck the vial out of Carver’s grip and to steal another kiss. He's seen how quickly Bethany’s teasing can rile Carver up.

 

“Thank you,” he says, low enough that only Carver can hear him and gently squeezes his hand before returning to the stove.

 

The faint blush creeping up Carver’s neck is nothing if not delightful. “You’re welcome.” He takes off his jacket and throws it over one of the kitchen chairs. “But can we talk about how expensive that stuff is? I argued with the new checkout guy for at least fifteen minutes because I thought there had to be a mistake.”

 

“Oh no,” Felix says cheerfully and takes over the stirring from Dorian. “It really is that expensive.”

 

“Maker. But it’s just… _whatever it is_.”

 

Felix can feel Dorian laughing next to him but at least he has the decency to do it discreetly. “It’s part of a flower,” he says while adding two more threads to the soup. “A type of crocus.”

 

He’s not at all surprised by the look of disbelief on Carver’s face when he turns around. “You’re putting flowers in the soup?”

 

“Part of a flower,” he corrects with a smile.

 

Bethany reaches out with her foot and nudges Carver with her toes once he’s in range. “Can’t you pretend to be even a little cultured, Brother? For me? For Ferelden?”

 

“That’s not a Fereldan flower,” Carver snipes, kicking her right back. “I know, because ‘imported from Antiva’ is written about a thousand times on the label.”

 

“That must have been a struggle, given its size,” Dorian says, examining the box. Carver ignores him in favor of shrugging out of his damp clothes and touching the backs of his cold fingers to Bethany’s neck. She squawks, whacking him in the side.

 

Dorian gives Felix a long-suffering look. “Your charming friends have reverted back to childhood again.”

 

“ _Your_ friends left at least seven liquor bottles in the house last night after Wicked Grace,” Felix says airily, stirring the saffron in.

 

Dorian nods sagely. "Like adults."

 

“Three were in the bathtub.”

 

“Oh, yes. And I’m certain they didn’t finish them all. That’s practically a gift!” He brightens. “Are you trying to insult my friends for leaving me gifts?”

 

“In the _bathtub_ , Dorian.”

 

Dorian is spared from having to answer when Bethany shrieks once more. Carver is in the process of actually crawling across the table, his cold fingers outstretched like a weapon.

 

“Carver,” Felix says, loud enough to be heard over Bethany’s protest. “Would you like to try the soup?”

 

So perhaps a little bit like separating squabbling children.

 

“Oh, he gets to try? Now I see how things are.” But there's no real heat in Dorian’s voice - probably because he uses the distraction to steal another one of Felix’s croutons.

 

At last, Carver abandons his quest to torment his sister and gets up to stand by Felix’s side. He leans over the pot, sniffs and… makes a face. Of course. It happens to be one Felix is particularly fond of, but he’s still glad his back is turned to Bethany so she can’t see.

 

But nobody would ever accuse Carver Hawke of cowardice. He might make a face like a man on his way to the gallows but he takes the spoon from Felix and tries the soup. His face goes through a range of emotions before finally settling on confusion.

 

“And the flower really makes a difference?” he asks carefully and hands back the spoon.

 

Felix bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing and nods. “The flower makes quite a lot of difference.”

 

“Right.” Carver claps Felix on the shoulder and turns - probably to return to torturing Bethany - before he pauses.

 

“Is there something wro - er. Special about the chicken?”

Dorian clears his throat.

 

“ _Wasted_ ,” he says, triumphantly snatching another crouton and sauntering from the room.

 

“Wasted,” Bethany agrees.

 

Carver shakes out his wet hair over her head, and she shrieks.

 

This time, Felix doesn’t intervene.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Carver stares for a long, long moment at the plate before him.

 

He pokes at it with a fork, glancing up to make sure Felix remains occupied on the other side of the room before he scrapes the tiniest dusting of… of something off the side of his steak. It’s bitter on his tongue, and dark, and he thinks it might be… but no, surely not...

 

“Carver?” Felix’s voice comes, and he jerks back guiltily. But Felix still isn’t looking at him, fiddling with the pie Carver was sent home with earlier in the evening. “If you’re not hungry after a day with your mother, I understand.”

 

“No,” Carver says. He’s trying to sound convincing, but he knows it comes out more as impetuous. He’d made his mother go tight-lipped and _knowing_ when he’d turned down dinner. Of course she’d made all his favorite things. _Normal_ things. Naturally, he’d been tempted.

 

But the little smile Felix sends his way over a shoulder makes the weird beef worth it.

 

Probably.

 

Carver still hasn’t tried it yet.

 

“Love…” he starts, unsure of himself. Dorian and Bethany don’t need to give Carver half the grief they do for him to know he doesn't properly appreciate Felix’s talents. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t _try_. What kind of ponce would he be to turn his nose up at home-cooked food just because it isn’t to his tastes?

 

He’s watched Felix in the kitchen. He knows how hard he works, how happy it makes him to make things that have other people falling over themselves to taste. He couldn’t possibly turn that aside - not for his “inferior palate”, and not for his mother’s roast.

 

 _Still_ …

 

“What exactly is this?”

 

“Beef,” Felix says, his voice a little too light. Carver’s suspicious that if he could see those eyes, they’d be poorly hiding mischief. “You like beef.”

 

“Yes, alright,” Carver says, the corners of his mouth twitching. “What’s _on_ it?”

 

“Well, there’s whiskey brown sauce,” Felix starts, finally setting the unwrapped pie aside and joining him at the table. “The good stuff, too. Don’t tell Dorian; I might have liberated some from him.”

 

“Right. And this?” He pointedly taps the sides.

 

“Oh, yes. It’s crusted with cocoa and espresso.”

 

Carver blinks.

 

“... You’re barmy.”

 

“I’m not,” Felix insists, his laughter warm. “Go on, try it.”

 

 _Do I have to_ , he almost asks, but swallows the question with a sip of water which is, thankfully, just water. He wouldn’t be surprised to find that Felix would find a way to give even water a weird little twist and call it _gourmet_.

 

He’s being ungrateful and he knows it. Here he is, lucky enough to love a man so gorgeous and kind and smart and talented, and he can’t even bring himself to try a bit of steak that said man prepared especially for him? It’s not Felix’s fault after all that apparently nobody ever told him that putting espresso and cocoa on beef was a sin in the eyes of the Maker.

 

“Alright,” he says and hopes his smile looks more sincere than it is. Under Felix’ watchful eye he cuts into the meat, the crust crackling under his knife. He picks up the fork with a ridiculously tiny piece of meat on it, thinks of how much he loves Felix, and puts it in his mouth.

 

It’s… not bad. Nothing Felix cooks for him ever really is. It’s just that he probably would have preferred a normal steak. He pointedly avoids thinking “like my mother makes them” because really, that might be too much.

 

“So?” Felix leans forward. “What do you think?”

 

“It’s interesting?” Carver tries to remember the things people on those cooking shows say all the time. “The flavor is very… interesting?”

 

Felix’s smile falters just a little bit but it’s enough to make Carver wish he never opened his mouth. “You don’t like it,” Felix says

 

“No!” Carver says quickly. “I mean, yes. Or… I don’t _not_ like it?”

 

Felix’s smile is not as bright as it should be when he gets up from his seat. “It’s alright, Carver. I can find you something else if you give me a few minutes.” The worst of it all is that Carver knows Felix actually means it.

 

He reaches out and grabs Felix by the hand to hold him back. Just a little tug and Felix lands in his lap with a little “oomph”.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, pressing his face against the slope of Felix’ shoulder. “I know I’m a… Fereldan barbarian.”

 

He can feel Felix laughing and his chest feels a little less tight immediately. “No, you’re not.”

 

“Yes, I am. You’re so wonderful and your food is wonderful and I’m just…” He makes a frustrated noise that he feels must be adequate enough to get his point across.

 

Felix doesn’t say anything for a moment. He has one hand on Carver’s shoulder and then other laced into the hair at the nape of his neck. He runs his fingernails gently over his scalp in the way he knows Carver likes. “You know I love you, don’t you?” he finally says and tugs at Carver’s hair a little bit so that he has to look at him.

 

Carver nods. There are thoughts in his head, slowly creeping up on him from the back of his mind. They are big, momentous. Just the edges of them make him feel a little scared. Too big for words, perhaps. So he settles for something simpler. “I want to try your chocolate coffee steak again, please.”

 

A slow smile spreads across Felix’s face and up close like this it’s really, really distracting. “You’re sure?”

 

“Yes.” And then, because it’s only going to haunt him otherwise, “It’s not Orlesian, is it?”

 

Felix laughs, a sound that shoots right through Carver in the best possible way. “No, it’s not. And I left out the chili as well.”

 

“You did?” Carver asks, not even a little bit ashamed of how touched he sounds.

 

“I know you don’t care for it.”

 

Carver pulls him in to be kissed properly and it’s almost good enough to forget about the food completely.

 

 

* * *

 

There are certain… concessions that have had to be made, once Felix chose to remain in the south. He’s to call or write at least once a week, so his father doesn’t worry. He’s to pester Dorian to answering his father’s messages more frequently. He’s to spare no expense on Tevene imports, so as not to grow complacent with unrefined Fereldan goods (“My son, you needn’t integrate into a culinary society wherein the height of taste is _druffalo_ and _root vegetables.”_ )

 

And on holidays, he’s either to return to Tevinter, or host his parents in their home.

 

“My darling!” Livia sweeps across the kitchen, despite its modest size, and takes Felix’s face in her hands. She kisses both of his cheeks before she pulls back to really look at him. Her dark eyes radiate a joy that warms Felix to the bone.

 

“Hello, Mother,” he says, slipping naturally into Tevene in response to hers, nudging her away from the hot stove. “How was your trip?”

 

“Tolerable,” she says, kissing his forehead twice before she slides her hands down his shoulders. “How is your constitution, my love?”

 

“I should ask you the same,” says Felix, glancing up in the wide kitchen doorway. His father’s face is pleased, untroubled, and Felix takes that as a good sign.

 

“I’m well, of course I’m well,” Livia sniffs, and takes his hands. She turns them over, clicking her tongue. “My sweet son, I hope that is not _mud_ under your nails.”

 

“Chocolate,” Felix assures. He turns his hands to take hers instead, and squeezes her long fingers. Then, for Carver’s benefit as he stands watch from behind Gereon, Felix switches to common, “You must be tired. Please, make yourselves comfortable. I’ve talked Dorian out of his good wine, so there’s some Sun Blonde in the sitting room -”

 

“I’ll pour you a glass?” Carver tries, wearing his best ‘I’m sociable - no, really!’ face. Livia squeezes Felix’s hands.

 

“We’ve only just arrived, and you want to be rid of me!” she says, tutting when Felix lifts her hands to kiss them. “My own son!”

 

“Come, Livia,” Gereon coaxes, laughter evident in his tone. “I haven’t given my greetings.”

 

“You want him all to yourself,” Livia says, but lets herself be shepherded away. “He’s just as old and tired as I am, Felix. Older, even!” But despite her protests, latches onto Carver just as quickly. Felix watches them disappear into the sitting room, Livia looping her arm into his, Carver hastening to shape it accordingly.

 

“Felix,” Gereon says. He steps closer but halts himself a pace away, eyeing  his son up and down. “You’re covered in cocoa.”

 

“It’s been a long day,” Felix smiles. To his surprise, Gereon steps in to embrace him, regardless. “Your clothes -!”

 

“I have plenty to spare at the inn.” Gereon takes Livia’s place and rests his hands on Felix's shoulders. “You look well.”

 

“I am.”

 

Felix gently extricates himself from his father’s hold and returns to the stove.

 

“I confess,” Gereon starts, peering over his shoulder at the stove top, “though we had planned to invite you young men out to eat in the village, we were secretly hoping you’d prepared a meal for us instead.”

 

“I know how you feel about the selection in Redcliffe,” Felix says, and does not admit that the only way to get Orlesian food down Carver’s throat is to make it himself.

 

“And what have you made for us today?” Gereon asks.

 

“Crisp frog legs with lemon caper cream for mother, to start,” he says, taking the lemon in hand to shave for the cream. “Roasted duck with orange sherry vinaigrette for Dorian.”

 

“I’m sure he’s relieved we’re here, to take advantage of your talents.” Gereon’s tone is fond. Felix has no doubt Dorian’s going to enjoy all the attention on him this evening.

 

“Then for you, I’ve found a trout to braise, with raspberry vinegar butter sauce -”

 

“- tarragon, parsley, and shallots.” Gereon groans shortly, pressing a hard kiss to the side of Felix’s head. “I hold no son above you.”

 

“That’s a relief; I am your only.”

 

“And for dessert?” Gereon prompts. Felix grins.

 

“A secret.”

 

“Naughty child,” Gereon tuts, but he rolls up his sleeves. “Is there anything I can do to help? Of course there is. Only name it.”

 

“I was thinking about making a very simple salad, just for the side,” Felix says. “How do you feel about a pomegranate vinaigrette?”

 

Gereon laughs. “Do you need to ask?”

 

“I suppose not.” Felix wipes his hands clean of lemon juice and pulls the necessary ingredients from cupboards and the fridge. “And you don’t need to worry. I already deseeded the pomegranate.”

 

His father obviously tries to not look too relieved but lets himself be seated at the kitchen table with a knife and chopping board.

 

The high note of his mother’s laugh sounds from the living room, gradually growing louder as she trails back into the kitchen, one hand in the crook of Carver's arm. “The wine is excellent, my dear,” she says and takes a sip from her glass.. “Dorian hasn't lost his good taste.”

 

“I’m sure he'll be honored to hear it,” Felix says and swoops in to relieve Carver of the glasses in his hands. “He should be here any minute.” He places one of the glasses in front of his father who nods his thanks before returning his attention to the chopping board.

 

It takes another half hour for Dorian to arrive, just when Felix starts to worry about having to reheat the food. But in familiar fashion, he comes with apologies, smiles and two more bottles of wine. That they just happen to be from his mother’s favorite vineyard is a complete coincidence, of course.

 

“Alexius!” he says, weaving around Carver, who dutifully takes stack upon stack of plates and cutlery to the garden. “Marvelous to see you. And dear Livia, how are you?”

 

While Dorian chatters on with his parents, Felix takes a moment to touch Carver’s arm upon his return. Carver smiles, a little distracted, and Felix brushes his fingers before he hands him the frog legs.

 

“Relax,” he murmurs. The color in Carver’s cheeks deepens.

 

“I’m relaxed,” he mutters back, taking the plate. Almost as a forethought, he ducks in and kisses Felix’s cheek.

 

The kitchen’s far too full, and Felix shoos them all out to the garden the moment the first dish is on the table outside. Dorian goes happily with all the wine, Livia in the crook of his arm, and Carver and Gereon trying very, very hard to be pleasant with one another.

 

Carver once told Felix about a primary school teacher who had told him that the surest way to not offend anyone would be for Carver to keep his mouth shut. Anger still coils in his stomach whenever he thinks about it - even more so when he notices Carver taking her “advice” to heart. Carver is not a quiet person and him putting on a strained smile instead of an honest answer is painful to watch.

 

Dorian takes on the lion’s share of the conversation, to nobody’s surprise, and Felix thinks it’s the first time Carver looks actually relieved to be able to listen to Dorian talk. With the attention of his parents elsewhere, Felix slide his hand across the tabletop to gently squeeze Carver’s hand. He can see Carver taking a deep breath.

 

“You’re doing fine,” Felix assures him, quiet enough that only Carver can hear. “They like you.”

 

Carver doesn’t look convinced but Felix is fairly certain that at least in his mother’s case it’s the truth. She is on her second glass of wine and has seated herself next to Carver from where it is easy for her to pat his sizable upper arm whenever she pleases. Felix supposes his taste in men had to come from somewhere.

 

Unfortunately that also means that his mother is the first to notice the crime scene on Carver’s plate. “My,” she says and curls her fingers around his bicep. “Is something wrong with your duck?”

 

Of course Carver would go for the roasted duck - the closest thing to food he actually believes to be edible. He just somehow manages to cut away every piece that got in contact with the orange sherry vinaigrette, leaving behind at least a third of the bird. Felix strongly suspects there is even more incriminating evidence hidden underneath the lettuce leaves on the side of his plate.

 

It’s far from the first time Carver’s met his parents, but in the beginning, they were far too busy scrutinizing him to really _watch_ him. Leaning in too close to Felix took precedence over whatever he had (or hadn’t) been doing with his food. How could they watch him eat while they were still busy reconciling their honorable son's first and sudden rebellion from societal norms with the love they had for him? By the second time, Dorian was busy remodeling the kitchen, so meals had been taken in public, where Carver had been able to find something for himself he could really enjoy.

 

“No!” Carver says hastily, ignoring Dorian’s pointed cough. “No, there’s nothing…”

 

On a whim, Felix states, “Carver’s stomach is sensitive to citrus.”

 

Livia and Gereon take on looks of mild surprise. Dorian, however, seems to be holding himself back from laughter.

 

Carver’s ears are bright red.

 

“Oh dear,” Livia hums.

 

“Not terribly!” Felix amends, pouring Carver a glass of water. He’ll go find him some ale as soon as he can fish himself out of the deep end. “Just… today. His sister left us so many oranges for the recipe, you see, and I think he might have had too many earlier. It’s - sorry. I should have made something a little less acidic.”

 

“No,” Carver says quietly, rubbing his mouth, unable to meet Felix’s eye. “No. You’ve been working very hard all day. I’m… this is really good, Felix.” He scrapes a heaping bite onto his fork with a knife and stuffs it into his mouth.

 

“Oh dear,” Livia repeats, patting Carver’s arm. “Perhaps you could try the frog legs? They're so divine they don’t even need the vinaigrette.”

 

“No,” Carver says, a little bit too quickly and almost chokes on his duck. He clears his throat and adds, “No, thank you. I’m really fine. I’ll just eat more of the salad. Healthier anyway, right?”

 

Gereon smiles like he isn’t at all convinced, but passes him the salad bowl and the pitcher with the vinaigrette.

 

Felix can see the exact moment when the first pomegranate seed pops in Carver’s mouth, horror slowly dawning on his face, and decides he probably deserves a break. “Would you mind helping me in the kitchen for a moment, amatus?” he asks and pushes back his chair.

 

Carver blinks but quickly nods and rises to his feet. From the corner of his eye, Felix can see Dorian positively shaking with withheld laughter. His parents exchange a confused look across the table and Felix is aware of how this must look. It’s an inelegant maneuver that implies a couple’s fight rather than a last minute rescue mission, but he can hardly find it in him to care as he leads Carver back into the house.

 

As soon as the glass door slides closed behind them, Carver’s shoulders slump and he sighs heavily. “I’m so sorry,” he says, telltale blotches of red already forming on his neck and cheeks.

 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Felix reassures him and closes the distance between them to take his hand. “You just looked like you needed a moment to breathe.” He smiles. “And perhaps something other than wine or water.”

 

“D’you think Dorian could talk Varric out of that keg?” he asks. The little smile on his face is a relief. He sighs again and leans down, tapping his forehead to Felix’s. “I’m ridiculous.”

 

“You’re not,” Felix murmurs, patting his chest. “Everyone has different tastes.”

 

“And I never outgrew mine past primary school.”

 

Felix grins. “It was the sweet and the savory together, wasn’t it?”

 

Carver wrinkles his nose. “It’s _Orlesian_.”

 

“I know how that vexes you,” Felix laughs. Carver’s smile grows a little. He turns over one of Felix’s hands, not unlike his mother had.

 

“Why’s there chocolate under your nails?” he asks, and then pauses. Cautiously, he asks, “... Is there chocolate in the frog legs?”

 

Felix grins. “Would that make you less or more inclined to try them?”

 

Carver makes exactly the kind of face he was hoping for and he just has to kiss him. Carver is only too happy to oblige, one of his broad hands steady on the small of Felix’s back. But when he pulls back, he taps his forehead to Felix’s once more and frowns a little bit. “Are you trying to distract me with kisses?” And then, a little bit horrified, “In which dish did you hide the chocolate?”

 

Felix laughs and gently frees himself from Carver’s embrace to get him the promised ale. “Don’t worry so much.”

 

“You saying that doesn’t help!” Carver calls after him.

 

“Does it help when I tell you it’s in the dessert?”

 

Carver doesn’t seem convinced. “That sounds too normal.”

 

“By somebody’s definition,” Felix agrees. He takes three ales from the cupboard, two openly for Carver and one to sit in the center of the table as a polite gesture as though Carver won’t inevitably be the one to take it.

 

“You’re being sneaky,” Carver tells him gravely, taking one from Felix and popping the cap off on the counter. It would’ve had Dorian cursing had he been in the room; Felix won’t fault Carver for it.

 

“I’m not being sneaky,” Felix laughs, tapping a bottle to Carvers as he leads the way back to the garden. “I’m building anticipation.”

 

“You say ‘tomato’, I say ‘why’s there chocolate with the tomatoes?’” Carver grumbles, following him out back.  

 

Dorian and Gereon are locked in a hot debate about… something or other, and Livia perks up when Carver comes to sit beside her again.

 

Felix can feel Carver watching him, his brow knitted in concentration. It takes everything for him to clear all expression from his face. Thankfully, the others have mostly finished their meals while he and Carver were inside - except for the wine and a last bit of duck on Dorian’s plate that he keeps poking with his fork and abandoning as soon as Gereon prompts him with another argument. But at least it means no one is pestering Carver about the food anymore.

 

With his mother being on her third glass of wine, Carver watching him like a hawk and the conversation between Dorian and Gereon drifting dangerously close to the realm of politics, Felix decides to start clearing the table.

 

“Dessert and coffee?” he offers and as predicted Dorian’s head snaps up.

 

“I’ll help,” he says and gets out of his seat. Felix ducks his head to hide his grin. He knows Dorian well enough to know this is less about Dorian’s desire to help in the kitchen and more about this reluctance to let anyone but himself operate that ridiculously complicated coffee machine he bought last year. It’s fully automated and utterly impractical for company but he insists the quality of the coffee makes up for it.

 

When Felix starts stacking plates, Carver makes to stand. “Here, let me -”

 

“Nonsense!” Livia insists, pulling him back down. Felix smiles at him encouragingly.

 

“Stay,” he says. “My mother prefers your company to ours.”

 

“You’re so refreshingly candid,” Livia agrees, patting Carver’s arm.

 

In the privacy of the kitchen, Dorian pulls the beans from the freezer. “You’ll be pleased to hear I didn’t reveal Carver’s scandalous secret to your parents.”

 

“I appreciate that,” Carver says, setting the dishes in the sink.

 

“Of course, they’re going to find out sometime, one way or another. If you intend to carry on like this.” Dorian grins slyly at him over his shoulder. “Your mother wants a wedding. What would you serve his family? Beets? Muskrat? _Lightly salted potatoes?”_

 

“You’re being cruel,” Felix says but there is no real heat behind it. “There are ways to compromise, you know?”

 

“Are there?” Dorian asks gravely. “Are there really?”

 

Felix laughs and shakes his head. “Not everything has to be so…” He’s searching for the right and least offensive word. “So complicated. There's beauty in the simple things, Dorian.”

 

Dorian gasps. “This Fereldan has corrupted you. If you start telling me that salt and pepper is all the seasoning you need, I’m taking you back to a more civilized country myself.”

 

Felix rolls his eyes. “The Fereldans have a few really nice recipes.”

 

“I’m just going to ignore that you said that. For both our sakes.”

 

When Felix steps out to clear the last of the table, it’s his mother and father in heated debate this time - in common, he notes, which means they’re being polite for Carver’s sake. He’s as wide-eyed as Felix has ever seen him, but Livia’s grip on his elbow is resolute, so Felix doesn’t even attempt to rescue him.

 

By the time he’s put all the dishes in the machine, there’s a fine, steady drip of coffee filling the pot, and Dorian’s managed to scrounge up another bottle of wine.

 

“So,” he says, feigning nonchalance. “Dessert?”

 

“I haven’t forgotten.”

 

When Felix pulls it out from the top of the fridge and unwraps the pan to cut and plate, Dorian just looks… confused.

 

“I’ve never seen your work so… heavy-handed.”

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Felix says, keeping his smile innocent.

 

“Usually your desserts are more… complicated,” Dorian says, pointedly ignoring Felix’ snort. “Works of art, really. Not… this.”

 

“It’s fudge,” Felix says and hands Dorian two of the plates.

 

“Fudge,” Dorian repeats.

 

“It’s Carver’s favorite.”

 

“Oh no.”

 

Felix smiles. “Oh yes.”

 

Dorian looks at him as if he just plunged a knife into his back. “I hope you know that you are breaking my heart right now.”

 

“You're being dramatic,” Felix says and laughs.

 

“Am I?” He only grudgingly lets himself be ushered to the door. “I don’t think I am!”

 

Carver sets the table with mugs, sugar, and milk. His second trip heralds a tall pot of coffee, which his mother and father both lay claim to on sight. By the time he comes bearing fudge, Carver’s on his third ale.

 

His face might be the most confused when Felix sets the full plate on the table.

  
“Fudge,” he says, and Carver looks between Felix and the fudge like he doesn’t dare hope. Felix absolutely does not laugh. “I thought perhaps it would be in the spirit of things to end the evening with a Fereldan dessert.”

 

“It’s lovely, darling,” Livia sighs in her fourth-glass-of-wine voice, her long dark fingers curled around a mug of coffee. “Isn’t it lovely, Carver, my sweet?”

 

“Yeah,” he agrees, picking a square for himself. He halts before taking a bite, however, suspicion plain on his face. “Is there… You didn’t make it spicy, did you?”

 

Felix laughs and pours himself a cup of coffee. “No. It’s your mother’s recipe, actually. I only tweaked it a little bit. Don’t tell her.”

 

Carver looks dumbstruck but when he takes his first bite, his expression dissolves into something close to pure bliss. “Maker’s breath,” he groans. “I love you.”

 

“Not too much for your sensitive stomach?” Dorian asks, hiding his grin behind the rim of his cup. Carver is too busy reveling in his new-found ecstasy so give him so much as a dirty look from across the table.

 

“I was thinking about making a salted caramel sauce to go with it but decided to keep it simple,” Felix says, nudging Dorian under the table with one foot.

 

“Thank the Maker,” Carver mutters before reaching for a second piece of fudge.

 

Felix’s father catches his eye, a question in the minute twitch of his brow. Felix simply smiles and settles himself closer to Carver’s side.

 

“What’d you change?” Carver asks, reaching for a third piece once conversation resumes around them. Felix perks up a little, leaning into Carver almost as much as his mother is.

 

“Do you like it?” he asks, surprised. Carver sends him a surprised sort of stare.

 

“They’re brilliant,” he says. Felix’s fingers curl around his mug, warmth coiling in his chest. He can’t remember the last time Carver’s told him so without simply trying to spare his feelings.

 

“I thought the original recipe might be too sweet,” he answers, taking a sip of coffee to calm his smile. “I substituted honey for sugar when I was sure the consistency wouldn’t suffer for it.”

 

“They’re gorgeous,” Carver insists, handing half of his over to Felix. “You haven’t even tried one.”

 

“They’re for you,” Felix says with a little laugh, pushing his hand back.

 

“I can’t possibly eat them all,” Carver says but doesn’t look too sure about that himself.

 

“You might want to be quick, darling.” Livia smiles. “Or Dorian will beat you to it. He seems to be quite taken as well.”

 

“I am not!” Dorian spreads his napkin across his plate as if to hide the evidence but he cannot hide the tiny smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. “They are… good,” he finally concedes. “For a Fereldan recipe.”

 

Carver snorts. “How gracious of you.” But he is too content to be truly offended - especially when Felix placates him with a fourth piece and finally takes one for himself.

 

Long after the sun disappears, Livia heaves a great sigh and makes to stand. Carver moves with her to help, and she pats his great arm appreciatively. “I must -” she begins in Tevene, and then continues in the common tongue, “- get this old man to bed. He’s had a very long trip, and not nearly enough wine.”

 

Gereon smiles over the table at her, even as he tuts and shakes his head, ringing the taxi service.

 

“It’s been so lovely to see you, Carver,” she says, forgetting herself and slipping back into Tevene. “You will join us for breakfast, won’t you?”

 

“Umm.” Carver looks to Felix for help as Gereon takes his wife’s arm.

  
“Yes, we’ll see you for breakfast, Mother.”

 

“Oh! Yes,” Carver agrees.

 

Dorian and Gereon continue their conjecture all the way to the door, where Livia interrupts them to kiss Dorian, then Carver, then Felix.

 

“Goodnight, Mother,” Felix tells her as they go. “Father.”

 

“Gentlemen,” Gereon tips his head, and guides Livia down the path to the waiting taxi.

 

“That was really nice,” Carver says once they've cleared the table and Felix fills the sink with hot water.

 

“It was,” he agrees.

 

There is a quiet clinking sound behind him when Carver puts down the wine glasses on the kitchen table. “That fudge…” His voice trails off.

 

Felix smiles to himself. “Yes?”

 

“Do you think you could make that again some time?”

 

That’s definitely a first. Before Felix can answer, he feels Carver step up behind him and put his hands on his waist.

 

“I could certainly be convinced,” he says, leaning back against Carver’s chest.

 

“And I can be very convincing.” Carver presses a kiss to the side of Felix’ neck, enough to make a pleasant shiver run down his spine.

 

Felix turns around, keeping his soapy hands behind his back. He looks up at Carver and cannot help but smirk a little bit. “With the right incentive…”

 

When Carver kisses him, he can still taste the chocolate on his lips and decides that’s probably incentive enough.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, Junior.” Varric deals over the table with the fluidity of a man who’s done it a thousand times before. “Sparkler tells me your sweetheart’s a genius in the kitchen.”

 

Carver glances up from the fridge, beer in hand. He looks wary, suspicious of Varric’s motives. Frankly, Hawke doubts Varric has any beyond riling Carver up a bit.

 

It’s a small gathering tonight; they’re only having it at Dorian’s place because Varric knows the guy pretty well,  and that’s where Carver spends all his time. Varric has friends in all kinds of places; it’s always fun to see what sort of people come out of the woodwork, knowing the people Varric knows.

 

It’s a little strange that Carver’s dating someone Varric doesn’t know. Honestly, even stranger than the fact that _Hawke_ doesn’t know the guy.

 

But Bethany does.

 

“Oh, he’s lovely,” she says, tossing a copper in beside Dorian. “Carver, come play with us and wax poetic about Felix.”

 

Felix, who isn’t around, and mysteriously never is when Hawke pays a visit.

 

“I’ll pass,” Carver says, ignoring Varric entirely. This, of course, only makes Varric grin.

 

“And he’s dating this guy?”

 

“Oh, Carver’s very sweet on him,” Bethany says. Carver glowers at her over the beer, but doesn’t protest.

 

Interesting.

 

“He is,” Dorian agrees, leaning back to ponder his hand. “It’s almost sickening, how very sweet they are. Did you know, Bethany, that despite all odds, my dear friend made a week of dinners for Carver in his absence.”

 

“He didn’t!” Bethany says, scandalized. Carver’s scowl darkens.

 

“He certainly did.” Dorian nods solemnly. “All neatly labeled in the fridge.”

 

Bethany shakes her head like she just witnessed a tragedy. “I can only repeat myself, Carver: That man is wasted on you.”

 

Hawke leans forward, interest now definitely piqued. “Well, he sounds nice enough. If somewhat elusive.”

 

Carver glares at him. “Felix is…” He grits his teeth. “Great.”

 

It’s not like Hawke isn’t used to Carver’s strange behavior. Or his grumpiness. But he seldom gets so terse over nothing. “I’m sure he is,” Hawke tries to placate, keeping the smirk to a minimum. “So then what’s the problem with those dinners?”

 

“Ah, I’m glad you asked,” Dorian says before Carver can even open his mouth. “And nothing against you Fereldans, mind you. But it just so happens that Carver here has a much simpler taste than Felix is used to. It has caused… problems at times.”

 

“Now, now,” Bethany intervenes but Hawke knows that glint of mischief in her eyes and it never bodes well. “I wouldn’t call them problems. It’s just that Carver doesn’t seem to appreciate the full range of his boyfriend’s skills.”

 

“At least not those in the kitchen,” Dorian adds and takes a sip of wine.

 

“Maker’s breath!” Carver abruptly pushes away from the counter. “We‘re not talking about this. Him.”

 

“Why not?” Hawke asks. Carver points a finger at Hawke, mouth set in a firm line.

 

“I‘m _definitely_ not talking about him to _you_.”

 

“Whyever not?” Hawke asks, sitting back. Varric takes advantage of the distraction to raise by four copper. Bastard.

 

“Because,” Carver says.

 

“Succinctly put. Perhaps I want to meet my baby brother‘s piece.”

 

Carver‘s mouth twists in distaste. “He‘s not a - no, that‘s exactly why. I don‘t want you talking about him. I don‘t want you to meet him.”

 

Amused, Hawke pays only a bit of attention to the game. Carver hasn‘t been this much fun in months. “Oh my. Are you part of some sordid tryst? Is he a shameful sort of secret?”

 

Carver colors. “Don‘t.”

 

“Don‘t what?”

 

“Hawke,” Varric warns.

 

“You‘re not allowed to talk about him like that,” Carver says. Hawke‘s marginally surprised to find he‘s dead serious. “Not even as a joke.”

 

And then he just... leaves the room. Walks out. No shouting. No scathing remarks at Hawke‘s sense of shame.

 

Hawke blinks. “Well, he‘s got it bad.” It‘s aimed toward Bethany, but she‘s just smiling after Carver in a funny way.

 

“He does,” she agrees, and it sounds like a sigh. Then she looks back at Hawke. “He doesn‘t want you tainting Felix.”

 

“Ouch,” Varric says. Hawke poses dramatically, hand to heart.

 

“Me?”

 

“You and your little... gang,” Bethany amends. “Likely including you. Sorry, Varric.”

 

“Oh no, Sunshine. I‘ve met Doe-Eyes plenty of times. Before Junior moved in, if you can believe it. I just never knew he could cook.”

 

“If he’s such a fragile flower, he might not be the right fit for Carver anyway,” Hawke says and take a sip of beer. “Carver has the sensibility of a sledgehammer.”

 

Dorian laughs. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Felix is no fragile flower. More than enough for your brother.” He winks at Hawke.

 

“And here I thought we needed Carver to hear some gushing over Felix.”

 

Dorian shrugs. “Just don’t tell on me. He’s the closest thing I have to a brother and subsequently just as insufferable at times.”

 

Hawke sighs. “Speaking of which, does this mean I have to apologize to mine?”

 

It’s clear at whom the question is directed and Bethany does her best at motherly disapproval. “You should.”

 

“I can’t believe you think I would _taint_ the man.”

 

Bethany holds up her hands in a defensive gesture. “It’s not necessarily what I think. It’s what Carver thinks.”

 

“That serious, huh?”

 

She smiles. “The most serious I have ever seen him.”

 

“Well, shit.” Hawke pushes back from the chair and gets up. “Now I feel like an ass.”

 

“You are,” Bethany agrees. Hawke kisses her lovely crown despite the slander.

 

“Does this mean you fold?” Varric asks cheerfully, waving toward the growing pile of coppers. Hawke sits right back down.

 

“Alright. I’ll be a decent sibling after we finish this hand.”

 

Hawke isn’t sure whether the move was the right one, but it was certainly proves to be the most advantageous; Carver doesn’t even notice the approach, where he sits in the living room. His absurdly massive body sprawls over the loveseat, not unlike a great dog, and he’s fixated on his phone. By the slightest of margins, the look on his face startles Hawke, who can’t remember the last time Carver’s ever smiled so…

 

Grotesquely?

 

In a sweet way, of course. It’s the sweetness that makes it grotesque. Carver looks as though he’s been put under a trance, his great thumbs tapping out message after message. His face only shifts into brief, broader grins when he stops tapping and, presumably, receives a response.

 

“And to think,” Hawke says, leaning against the doorway, “it usually takes you days to respond to one of _my_ texts.”

 

“You don’t text me,” Carver says. It lacks all bite. That smile’s still on his great gob.

 

“I’ve been known to, once or twice.”

 

Carver snorts, and shifts his shoulders into a more comfortable position to respond. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

 

“It has been brought to my attention that I might owe you an apology.”

 

“So it needed to be brought to your attention?”

 

Hawke sighs. “Can’t you just accept an apology when it's offered?”

 

Carver looks up from his phone and raises an eyebrow. “I have yet to hear one.”

 

“Andraste’s tits... “ Hawke waits for Carver to say more but he’s just staring until with another heavy sigh, Hawke slumps onto the chair opposite of him. “I’m sorry, alright?”

 

Carver grunts and returns his attention back to his phone. “Great apology.”

 

This _would_ be more difficult than anticipated. Hawke watches Carver, whose face lights up once more - presumably at another text. “I didn’t think it was this serious between the two of you.”

 

Carver stops typing for a moment but doesn’t look up. “Yeah, well, it is.”

 

“So…” Hawke props up both feet on the couch table which earns a glare that is pointedly ignored. “What’s he like? And don’t say great.”

 

“He is though.”

 

“I’ve gathered as much.” When he doesn’t get a response, Hawke’s tongue clicks. “So he cooks, does he? Is he really that good?”

 

Carver shrugs. It’s such a familiar motion, the same petulant expression as always, that is almost makes Hawke smile. “I think it is,” Carver says after a moment. “It’s very… fancy.”

 

“Orlesian?” Hawke is unable to keep the horror from coming through.

 

Carver finally looks up. “Sometimes,” he admits.

 

“And you’re still besotted?”

 

Brow furrowed, Hawke can see Carver retreating back into his shell, immediately after being pried out.

 

“No, no, sorry,” Hawke briskly amends. “I’m not allowed to tease.”

 

“You’re not,” Carver agrees. His phone buzzes, and Hawke’s lost his attention again. Hawke is tempted, oh so tempted, to take the phone and see what has him so entranced, if only to hear him squawk. In a surprising turn of events, Carver does look up again, completely of his own volition. “He’s…”

 

“Yes?” Hawke watches several emotions war over Carver’s face.

 

“He’s special,” he finally says, fingers drumming against his phone. “To me. I don’t want…”

 

Slowly, Hawke straightens up before leaning forward, elbows rested on knees. Carver rubs at his cheek. “Mother knows,” he mumbles, “and she still hasn’t invited him over.”

 

“Yikes.”

 

A muscle in Carver’s jaw ticks. “He acts like it’s alright, but it’s not. I don’t understand it. But I don’t want… I want him to feel welcome. His family’s small, but they’re _nice_. Filthy rotting rich, powerful, _Tevinter_ -”

 

“I didn’t realize you were shopping in the upscale market for men - no, sorry, sorry, continue.”

 

Carver scowls, but doesn’t retreat. “His parents have come ‘round from Tevinter three times now. That’s three times I’ve met his mum more than he’s met mine, and she lives a few hours down the road.” He folds his arms over his chest and looks out the window. “It’s not right.”

 

“No,” Hawke agrees, “it’s not.”

 

“He’s… _great_ ,” Carver says. Slowly, his expression softens. “He’s quiet, though, and polite. Too polite. I’d never know anything bothered him if I didn’t know how to look. Bethany’s nice. Varric’s nice. Dorian’s… always been his friend.” He glances back at Hawke. “Sometimes, you’re a shithead just because you think it’s funny. I don’t want Felix to have to…”

 

“To grin and bear my presence?”

 

Carver shrugs. “Yeah.”

 

“You know, I am known to behave occasionally,” Hawke says after a few seconds of silence.

 

“That would be news to me.”

 

“Ouch. When it’s important, I mean. It hardly ever is, that’s all.” Carver makes a contemplative humming noise that tells Hawke it’s alright to continue. “I could talk to Mother if you want.”

 

“She’s met all of your partners, right?”

 

Hawke shrugs. “I'm not sure she had the choice. I just turned up with them most of the time. Doesn’t mean she _liked_ any of them.”

 

“That’s because you have awful taste.” But there's just the hint of a grin on Carver’s face so Hawke lets it slide.

 

“Listen,” Hawke says and leans forward. “I know you want her approval but if she doesn’t want to meet him, that’s her loss, not yours. He sounds terrific.”

 

“That’s easy to say for someone who doesn’t care what she thinks. It’s not so simple.” Carver doesn’t look angry. He looks genuinely sad. Which is new and not at all to Hawke’s liking.

 

“I don’t _not_ care,” Hawke says, smiling a little. “I just bury that disappointment deep, deep down behind a thick wall of sarcasm.”

 

Carver looks at his phone again and then up at Hawke. “He is, though. Terrific, I mean.”

 

Hawke grins. “I bet. He cooked you dinner for a week just so you wouldn’t starve. I don’t think anyone has ever done that for me.”

 

Carver blushes. Actually blushes. Not the red blotches he usually gets when he’s embarrassed or when Hawke riles him up for long enough, but a flush spread from ear to ear, no scowl in sight. Not even a hint of murder in his eyes.

 

“Everything he makes is so…” Carver rubs the back of his neck. “ _Fancy_ . Like, _proper_ fancy. Flowers in soup, fruit in meat - did you know you could put chocolate and coffee on steak? Or...” He waves a hand, snorting. “ _Espresso and cocoa_. But honestly…”

 

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around how fish-finger-sandwich-Carver managed to rope a gourmand.”

 

Carver groans, rubbing a hand down his face. The phone buzzes again, and just like that, his attention is gone.

 

This - whatever it is - has carried on for months, Hawke figures. Carver’s all but moved into this house, leaving Bethany on her own, which are equally surprising on several different levels. Carver’s never moved in with anyone out of the family before, and leaving Bethany…

 

“Where is he?” Hawke asks, when Carver’s soft laughter breaks the silence. Carver makes an unintelligible noise.

 

“Orlais,” he mutters. “His father’s visiting some blowhard aristocrat or other in Verchiel.”

 

“Careful,” Hawke says with a winning smile. “We come from a long line of blowhard aristocrats ourselves.”

 

“Don’t remind me,” Carver snorts. “His father wanted to see him, since he was _‘close_.’”

 

“Well. Closer than Tevinter.”

 

“Most everything’s closer than Tevinter.”

 

Honestly, Hawke can’t remember the last time they’ve had such a long, borderline-amicable conversation. Or the last time they ever tried.

 

“Invite him ‘round to my place,” Hawke says, on a whim. Carver looks scandalized at the very idea, but Hawke raises both hands in defense. “Not for anything funny, or anything _funny_. I just want to meet this posh gourmet from Tevinter who’s got you all soft. Who I hear is great.”

 

“And terrific.”

 

“And makes my cranky little brother happy.”

 

The phone buzzes, and Carver doesn’t even spare a moment to refute it.

 

 _Ah_ , Hawke thinks. _So that’s how it is. How very, very interesting!_


	2. Chapter 2

Felix can't shake the feeling that Carver is purposefully trying to distract him. (Not that it’s especially difficult.) Carver has always been too honest to be truly sneaky, awful at keeping secrets. But he also knows Felix well enough by now and the way brushes against him every time he crosses the kitchen starts so seem just a little too calculated.

 

He feels a hand trail along the small of his back and despite his suspicions leans into the touch. “You know,” he says as he turns away from the cutting board on the counter and catches Carver’s hand just before he’s out of reach, “you’re being awfully affectionate tonight.”

 

“I’m always affectionate,” Carver retorts, but he lets himself be pulled closer.

 

Felix makes a pensive noise and snakes his arms around Carver’s waist. It’s a good position, being crowded against the kitchen counter, and he would enjoyed his arms bracketing the sides of him much more if he didn’t have the nagging feeling that he let himself get distracted once more.

 

“Are you sure,” he says and stretches a bit to place a tiny kiss underneath Carver’s jaw, “that it has nothing to do with distracting me long enough so I wouldn’t notice you stealing the chili powder from the pantry?”

 

Carver stiffens. “That’s definitely not the case.”

 

“No?” Felix asks, sliding his hands down Carver’s back. He cups his ass, and Carver makes a strangled sort of noise. “Either you’re lying and there’s chili powder in your pocket, or we need to get you to a healer.”

 

“‘m not lying,” Carver mumbles when Felix pulls the little bottle out. “It’s not chili powder.”

 

“No,” Felix agrees with one glance at the label. “Cayenne. Very sneaky, Carver. And yet…”

 

Felix turns and Carver groans, pulling him back against his broad body, arms constricting Felix’s movement. “Love, I’m begging you - don’t make the cake spicy.”

 

“Bethany loves Antivan-style dark chocolate,” Felix argues, struggling only a little.

 

“It’s not just Bethany’s cake, though, is it?”

 

Felix laughs, fighting to move just enough to put the cayenne on the counter top. “You’re taking care of dinner, aren’t you?”

 

“Yeah, but the cake’s the best part! And you made me _do_ things with the real food.”

 

“They were improvements, and they were few and very subtle!”

 

“You said I didn’t cut the onion right. That was the first thing I did!”

 

Felix turns his head enough so he can see him smile. “And it was good. Just… the pieces were _very_ big.”

 

Carver groans once more and rest his forehead against Felix’ shoulder. “I didn’t think it _mattered_.”

 

“Only a little bit,” Felix says and reaches up to gently pat his cheek with one hand. “Now will you let me go so I can finish this?”

 

Felix can feel Carver hesitating for a moment but then one of his broad hands wanders up to rest on his chest while the other makes a slow but determined movement downwards. “If only you could make a simpler cake. We’d have so much time to ourselves before Bethany gets here…”

 

Oh, so he _can_ be sneaky.

 

“As enticing as that sounds,” Felix says and tries to wriggle out of Carver’s arms. “I already started this one."

 

“Bethany doesn’t even expect this. When we were kids, all our mother would make for us was chocolate marble cake. That has like… seven ingredients. At the most.”

 

“Perhaps if you're luck, Bethany will bring some from your mother for you.” Felix finally manages to wind himself out of Carver’s embrace. Carver grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“I've ruined the mood, haven’t I?”

 

Felix takes the cayenne before Carver can get to it once more. “The only thing you ruined was your devious distraction, amatus.”

 

Carver‘s touch is more apologetic when he brushes his fingers over the back of Felix‘s neck.

 

“Check your main course,” he prompts with a little smile, smudging chocolate over Carver‘s wrist when he reaches up to squeeze it.

 

Carver grunts something flippant like, “Stew‘s fine,” before he leans in to press an honest little kiss to Felix‘s temple. He doesn‘t attempt to hold Felix in place beyond the little finger hooked through the loop of Felix‘s trousers. He watches Felix work, quiet for the longest time - he doesn‘t make more than a muted noise at the dash of cayenne in the chocolate icing. When Felix checks the massive pot of beef stew, Carver doesn‘t even put up a fight, just... leans his weight against Felix again after he stops moving.

 

Curiosity gets the better of him, and Felix makes a grab for the little packet of fresh rosemary. He manages to toss a pinch in the pot before Carver smacks at his ass. “Oy,” he growls, “no funny business.”

 

“It‘s such a gentle, fragrant herb,” Felix says mildly, tossing in another pinch before Carver manages to haul him back.

 

“Maker, the cheek of you!”

 

Carver holds him in earnest now, broad hands splayed across Felix’ chest and stomach. When he leans down to gently nuzzle at the spot below his ear, Felix cannot help the little sigh that escapes him. Betrayed by his own body. How shameful. It doesn’t help that he can feel Carver smiling against the skin of his neck, which only serves to send another shiver down his spine.

 

“You know, I’m sure even someone like your mother would use rosemary,” he says, a little proud of how steady his voice sounds. “It’s a very common herb in Ferelden.”

 

He feels the hot breath of Carver’s laughter. “I’m not as easily put off as you are, love.” He places a small kiss on the tip of Felix’ ear. “No chance of ruining the mood for me.”

 

Felix laughs. “Well, that’s just disconcerting.”

 

Carver hums as he contemplates this and Felix can feel the vibrations of it running through him. For a moment, he actually has to fight the urge to just lean back and let Carver distract him. Thoroughly. With care. For as long as it takes.

 

He, and possibly the food, are saved by the cat.

 

Felix feels him first, slinking her way through in between his legs. He’s familiar enough with the touch by now but one second later he can feel Carver, the eternal dog person, flinch behind him. He’s startled enough by the unfamiliar feeling of a tiny bundle of fur rubbing her head on his shin, that he lets go of Felix long enough for him to make his escape.

 

“I knew it was a mistake for you to catsit,” Carver mutters, giving Ser Pounce the stink-eye. He mreeps in response, winding around Felix’s feet.

 

“Not at all,” Felix croons, nudging the cat gently with a socked toe. “I know you want pets, darling, but my hands are filthy with chocolate. You wouldn’t thank me for it.”

 

He goes back to cooking, unmolested, and even manages to add a smidgen of pepper to the stew before he goes to tend to everything else.

 

Ser Pounce makes his way out of the room once his cockblocking is done, and Carver couldn’t be gladder to see him go.

 

“He’s just securing efficiency in the kitchen,” Felix says, testing the pumpkin soup. “You’re right; I’m too easily distracted. He knows it, as well. I should thank him.”

 

“Well, you might as well. I'm certainly not going to,” Carver grumbles.

 

“I haven't forgotten that it's your birthday as well, you know.” Felix licks a smudge of chocolate from his thumb and smiles innocently at the way Carver’s eyes narrow in on it. “I just thought we might wait until there was no chance of disturbances. Feline or otherwise.”

 

“You’re devious,” Carver says and swallows visibly.

 

Felix adds a bit of dark ale to the stew and placates Carver by giving him the rest to drink.

 

“It's even Fereldan,” he says and lets himself be pulled into a kiss - almost completely innocent this time. “From a brewery near Denerim.”

 

It‘s the first year Carver‘s ever declined his mother‘s invitation for a birthday celebration, yet despite her disappointment, Carver hasn‘t an ounce of regret in his body. Not here and now standing in the kitchen with Felix‘s arms around him. The air outside is crisp with fall, but inside, the warmth from the oven keeps everything pleasantly warm. The kitchen smells like good, hot stew, and Felix‘s mouth tastes like chocolate.

 

When he pulls back from Carver, patting his chest and insisting he be allowed to return to his work, there‘s a happiness in him, a lightness Carver hasn‘t seen since Bethany told him she‘d be coming late making for Carver‘s surprise absence in the Amell estate. He smiles, kisses Carver again in spite of himself, and Carver wouldn‘t trade it for all his mother‘s cooking in the world.

 

“If you‘re trying to distract me while you hide the cayenne, it‘d not going to work so far from the counter,” Felix tells him. He smiles like an angel, and Carver draws his thumb down Felix‘s cheek for the rasp of his stubble.

 

“Don‘t be so sure,” he mutters, pressing his thumb beneath Felix‘s mouth to watch his lips part. “I‘m very resourceful.”

 

“Is that so?” There is a hint of something in Felix’ voice that shoots heat straight through Carver’s body.

 

“I’ll just have to be very, very distracting.”

 

“It’s unfair how good you are at that,” Felix says, the smile on his lips utterly inviting. When Carver brushes his thumb against it, he is delighted to find the tip of Felix’s tongue darting out. Felix bites his thumb, just lightly. The pressure just enough to make Carver’s breath hitch in his throat.

 

“Now who’s distracting?” he asks, his voice a little breathless, and reclaims his thumb to press his lips against Felix’ instead. It’s heated now, with Felix clinging to the front of Carver’s sweater and Carver running his fingers down Felix’ back until he coaxes the most delicious sounds out of him.

 

When Carver’s lips trail along the line of his jaw, Felix’ breath is hot and fast in his ear. “If you keep doing that, your stew will overcook into an inedible mush.”

 

“Isn’t that what stew's good for?” Carver asks and gently nips at Felix’ earlobe.

 

“What? Being mushy? Or giving you an excuse to seduce your boyfriend without having to worry about dinner?”

 

“Take your pick,” Carver grunts, nosing at the soft lobe of his ear.

 

This time, it might as well be expected when Carver‘s phone starts vibrating on the table. Felix startles, but Carver kisses his throat. “Ignore it,” he says.

 

He puts the buzzing in the back of his mind where it belongs. Felix isn‘t quite so negligent.

 

“What if it‘s important?” he murmurs, pushing Carver back.

 

“It definitely isn‘t.”

 

“What if it‘s Bethany?”

 

“She can wait.”

 

Felix laughs, his cheeks gorgeous and ruddy. “I need to check the food and finish the cake, you ridiculous beast.”

 

Carver bares his teeth, but he haltingly does let him go to check his phone. It takes a great deal of self restraint not to toss it out the window. Of course it has stopped buzzing just after driving Felix from his arms but starts up again just as Carver reaches for it. Together with the number, a picture pops up on his screen.

 

He’d recognize that fucking grin anywhere.

 

“What,” he says.

 

“My, do you sound grumpy, birthday boy,” Hawke chirps on the other end of the line.

 

“I’m not grumpy,” Carver says, sounding exceedingly grumpy indeed.

 

“Oh no. Let me guess. You’re in the middle of something. Bethany said you were with Felix. Please don’t tell me I just disturbed your…”

 

“Cake!” Carver blurts out. “We're making cake.”

 

“Of course you are.”

 

Carver groans and turns his face away from Felix as if he could shield from Hawke’s influence magically seeping through the phone. “What do you want? And when did you change your picture on my phone?”

 

“First of all, I’m calling because it’s your birthday and I’m a good, nay, a _great_ sibling.” Hawke obviously decides to ignore Carver’s scoff. “And secondly, the picture you had before was of actual, honest dog shit. Which, while incredibly flattering, I don’t feel fully captures my essence.”

 

“So are you going to wish me a happy birthday, or is this going to turn into a monologue again?”

 

“So impatient! Happy birthday, little brother.”

 

Carver sighs but unfortunately even that sounds a little bit fond. “Thanks.”

 

“Should I let you get back to… making cake?”

 

Carver doesn’t need to see Hawke’s face to know there is a lot of eyebrow wiggling involved. He clears his throat. “Yes.”

 

“You sound very impatient to get back to that cake.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Carver says, leaning back against the table and letting his gaze linger on Felix’s backside. “It’s a delicate process that takes a lot of attention and care. Something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

  
  
“You wound me!” Hawke gasps, sounding far too pleased.

 

“Clearly not enough.”

 

“Why don’t you put the cake on the phone for a moment? I want to get a good listen of his voice.”  


“Cake doesn’t talk, you great lout.”

 

Felix gives him a funny little smile over his shoulder. Carver smiles back.

 

“Is that right? And here I thought the cake was a metaphor for your scrumptious -”

 

“I’m hanging up now.”

 

“I heard you blew Mother off for him. I assume Bethany’s putting out the fire.”

 

“There’s no fire,” Carver says tersely. “I… had better plans.”

 

“I won’t even tell her you said that,” Hawke says, laughing broadly. “Good for you, Carver! I’ll let you go, birthday boy. You give that cake of yours a good seeing to -”

 

“Yeah, bye,” Carver hastily cuts in, and ends the call. Felix turns a little more of his attention back. “Haven’t I told you you’re lucky to be an only child?”

 

“You forget Dorian.”

 

“I don’t think anyone could ever forget Dorian.” Carver puts his phone back on the table and goes to stand next to Felix. “And he doesn’t count. He’s not nearly as insufferable as my siblings.”

 

Felix laughs. “You only say that because you don’t hear how he talks about you to me.”

 

“Do I want to know?”

 

“Oh, nothing bad.” He wipes away a bit of frosting from the platter before turning it to get a good look at the finished product. “He just has… ideas. You should have heard all the suggestions he had for your birthday alone.”

 

“Alright, I definitely don't want to know.”

 

Felix laughs again, a sound so lovely and carefree that Carver just has to pull him back into an embrace. “Not this again,” Felix complains but leans against Carver’s chest in a way that tells him he doesn’t really mind.

 

“Just one,” Carver says and presses a kiss to Felix’ temple. “And then you can tell me what kind of atrocities you have committed in the name of seasoning while I was on the phone.”

 

“None at all, carissimus,” Felix says, twisting his head around to give Carver a convincingly innocent look. Doe-Eyes indeed.

 

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

 

“None at all in your stew.”

 

“Oh, well. That’s comforting.”

 

“There’s only the soup and the cake left.”

 

Carver rubs his cheek against the close-shaved sides of Felix’s head. “Don’t know why you had to make soup at all when I made stew,” he grumbles.

 

“Bethany asked me to.”

 

“Because she likes you better than me.”

 

“Because you wouldn’t put pumpkin in your stew.”

 

“Whoever heard of pumpkin in beef stew?”

 

“It’s seasonal. Festive. Some people like that sort of thing.” Felix reaches out to stir the pot, and it’s only a bit of an awkward stretch from Carver’s arms. “It’s her birthday, you know.”

 

“Is it? I’d completely forgotten.” He pulls Felix back as soon as he lets go of the spoon. “There is no pumpkin in the cake, though, is there?” He already knows there isn’t. He made sure to watch out for that in particular.

 

“Unlike other people, I am not that sneaky,” Felix says. “And not that cruel.”

 

“Only a little cruel.” Carver lets his hand wander down until he can slide it over Felix’ ass.

 

Felix laughs and swats at him but doesn’t pull away. “You are very determined today.”

 

“I’m always determined. And today I’m allowed to be.” He grins. “It’s my birthday you know?”

 

Felix turns to face him, his face a mask of innocence. “Is it? I’d completely forgotten.”

 

Carver has more to say about Felix’ particular brand of cruelty but it cut short when Felix stands on the tip of his toes to kiss him once more.

 

_I’m in love with you_ , he thinks, tasting chocolate anew. It’s cold outside, but warm within, and Felix draws him closer with the sweetest, softest sigh. _Happy birthday to me._  


 

* * *

 

 

 

“Don’t be nervous.”

 

“I’m not nervous,” Felix says, fiddling with his sleeves. Technically, with Carver’s sleeves. Normally Carver likes it when Felix wears his shirts - sometimes in the mornings, when he’s too lazy to dress himself properly. Sometimes when he’s feeling particularly cheeky and wants to appeal to Carver’s handsy nature. And sometimes just for comfort.

 

But it’s always a deliberate choice. Carver doesn’t like the unease Felix must feel, to need so basic a comfort right now. He reaches across the center console of Felix’s car and takes his hand, squeezing his fingers.

 

“It’s just Satinalia dinner,” he says, catching Felix’s gaze.

 

“I know.” Felix smiles. It’s a very nice smile, perfect in every way. Perfectly insincere. “Honestly, Carver, I’m alright.”

 

“Alright,” Carver says, brushing his thumb over Felix’s knuckles. He clears his throat. “We can leave whenever you like, you know.”

 

“You’re being ridiculous,” Felix laughs, tucking the sleeves of Carver’s shirt back within the cuffs of his coat. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely. Bethany will be here, and I’ll finally get to meet-”

 

“ _Any time,”_ Carver insists.

 

Felix laughs again and it actually sounds a little lighter. “Do we need a code word? A secret hand sign for extraction?”

 

Carver settles back in his seat but keeps his eyes on Felix’s profile for a moment longer. “You joke, but... that sounds like a good idea. Something you wouldn’t normally say.”

 

“Like what? Dill pickle?”

 

Carver laughs. “That depends. Did you bring any dill pickles for dinner?”

 

“Even though I’m sure they are traditional Satinalia fare in some country, I did not. Sadly.”

 

“So the perfect code word then,” Carver says and raises a hand to gently brush his fingers across Felix’ cheek. Felix smiles at him and this one is finally sincere. Before Carver can lower his hand, Felix gets a hold of it and presses a quick kiss to the inside of his wrist.

 

“Ready to go inside?” he asks and Carver nods, feeling just a little bit less nervous himself.

 

They get all the bowls and bags out of the boot and Carver feels a bit like a pack mule. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy to see Bethany when she practically skips down the driveway towards them - both because it means he can unload some the stuff into her arms but also because she's a friendly familiar face for Felix.

 

“I got almost two glasses of wine into mum already,” she says while Carver takes on some of the things Felix is carrying, pointedly ignoring his protests. “So she's very tame right now. It was even almost enough to distract her from the length of Isabela’s skirt.” She turns to Felix and puts on her best impression of their mother. “'Definitely not appropriate for a Satinalia celebration, but _some_ people…'”

 

“Alright, alright,” Carver says and makes his way past her towards the house. “We’ll get enough of that tonight as it is.”

 

“She’s usually a very lovely woman,” Bethany tells Felix, bumping shoulders. “And you’re far from the only guest, so only expect the majority of the attention… well. Most of the time, actually, now that I think of it… New blood and all.”

 

_“Bethany.”_

 

“Oh, but don’t worry,” she says. “They’re all very nice. Some of them will probably be a little too nice, but that’s only because you’re a very lovely man.”

 

“They’ll want to know why you’re stuck with me,” Carver gripes, nudging Bethany in through the double doors of the Amell estate. “I hope you have a few lies more interesting than the truth ready. The worse it is, the more they’ll love it.”

 

Bodahn takes their food at the door, or attempts to. Carver lets him take the dishes from Bethany and Felix, but he has enough height to keep the man moving along to the kitchen without trying too hard to wrest anything from him.

 

“I’ll just be in the kitchen,” Carver tells Felix, but he hesitates when he sees the nigh-invisible flash of unease in Felix’s face. But Bethany waves him off, taking Felix’s coat in one arm and hooking the other through his, guiding him toward the closet. Carver trusts no one better to take care of Felix in his absence. He just hopes that that trust doesn’t prove misguided with so many rogue elements in play.

 

A pair of whom appear to be lurking in the kitchen.

 

“Carver!” Isabela crows, swanning across the room to plant a sloppy kiss on both of his cheeks. It’s extraordinary, the heights one woman can reach in monstrous heels. “Bethany tells me you brought fresh meat.”

 

“People really need to stop calling him that.”

 

“I remember when I was fresh meat,” Merrill muses, the apples of her cheeks rosy from however many glasses of wine she’s downed under Isabela’s supervision.

 

“Just the very best cut,” Isabela croons and kisses Merrill on the cheek as well.

 

“Am I the only one who thinks that analogy is creepy?” Carver put down his bags on the kitchen counter.

 

“Oh, what has you so grumpy already? Didn’t your little friend come with you after all?”

 

“Yes, he did. And please don’t call him that either.” Carver sighs. “It’s just…” He makes an impatient hand gesture. “Nerves, I guess..”

 

“Isabela always says wine helps with that,” Merrill says and offers her glass with a little smile. “I tried it. It’s true.”

 

“That it does, kitten. That it does.” Isabela intercepts the glass and takes a sip before handing it to Carver.

 

“Nah, thanks. I’m good.” He starts searching through the bags for everything that needs to go into the fridge. “Why are you in here anyway?”

 

“We’re hiding from Leandra,” Merrill says gravely.

 

Isabela tuts. “We’re not hiding. It's tactical evasion. There’s a difference, you know.”

 

Carver laughs. “What did you do this time?”

 

Isabela gasps and puts hand on her chest in mock outrage. “Me? I haven’t done anything! She’s the one who had the audacity to throw a blanket over my legs when I sat down on the couch. And she gave me that look. You know the one!”

 

“Perhaps she just thought you’d be cold,” Merrill offers and slides her hand into Isabela’s.

 

“Kitten, I’m the hottest thing in this entire house.” She empties Merrill’s wineglass with one big gulp. “Although I hear your man is sight for sore eyes as well, Carver. Where is he hiding?”

 

“It’s not hiding, Isabela,” Carver says and cannot help the grin that does with it. “It’s tactical evasion.”

 

“Oh my. The boy has given you some bite.” Her lips curl into a smile. “It suits you.”

 

Carver rolls his eyes and leans down to look through the glass oven door behind which his mother is roasting a turkey the size of a toddler. “He’s with Bethany. But he’s bound to come in here sooner or later. It’s sort of… his thing.”

 

“Oooh, Varric said that he's a very good cook,” Merrill says, her eyes bright with excitement.

 

“He is,” Carver says and pride makes his chest feel a bit tight. He isn’t aware of the big grin on his face until Isabela draws his attention to it.

 

“Look at you,” she laughs and refills Merrill’s glass. “You’re smitten.”

 

Carver scoffs and straightens back up. “Well, you’ll meet him when he comes in. But just so you know, this oven timer is almost up. Which means my mother will come running as well.”

 

“He’s fancy, isn’t he?” Merrill asks, looping an arm through Isabela’s and resting a cheek on her shoulder. “Won’t he be doing fancy things? Socializing?”

 

“If you’ve put him in Bethany’s capable hands, won’t she be showing him off?” Isabela says, mischief in the painter curve of her lips.

 

Carver freezes. He’d just assumed Felix would find his way to the kitchen, like an animal returning to his natural habitat. Come to think of it, Bethany’s kept him away far longer than it’d take to put away a coat…

 

“Maker’s balls,” Carver mutters, making his way out of the kitchen at tremendous speed. A speed so great that he nearly bowls his mother over on the way out.

 

“Carver!” Leandra says, grabbing his arms as he sets her to rights.

 

“Sorry, Mother,” says Carver, his eyes darting about the foyer. No sign of Felix or Bethany. No sign is a bad sign. “I should’ve been more careful.”

 

“You should have,” Leandra agrees. Her eyes sparkle with wine-inspired happiness and she pats his cheeks with her feather-soft hands. “My sweet boy, come down here and give your mother a kiss.”

 

Carver kisses her cheeks, and feels a little guilty extracting himself from her grip so quickly after.

 

“It’s good to see you, Mother. The turkey looks fantastic. Have you seen Bethany?”

 

“Hmm? Oh yes, dear, she’s in through the sitting room with the rest of them.”

 

“ _Bollocks_. Sorry, Mother,” he says at her pointed frown and shucks his own coat as he makes his way to the sitting room.

 

And there it is. Like an image from his worst nightmare: Hawke sprawled across the couch, drink in hand and eyes fixed intently on Felix. And that smile. Carver knows that smile all too well.

 

Felix doesn’t look overly uncomfortable wedged in between Bethany and Varric on the smaller couch, but he does that thing where he smiles beatifically to mask his confusion. Carver's seen it a hundred times and knowing that he was the one who left him in such a position only feeds his bad conscience.

 

“Felix!” he blurts out.

 

The rush of relief visible on Felix’ face doesn’t really make it better.

 

“Carver, how nice of you to join us!” Hawke laughs and almost spills some of the drink on the couch.

 

“Be nice,” Bethany says. She get up from her seat and pulls Felix with her.

 

Hawke makes a face. “I’m always nice. Haven’t I been nice to you, Felix?”

 

“See? That’s exactly what I mean.”

 

Carver takes Felix’ hand and mouths an apology before turning to Bethany. “Why didn’t you bring him to the kitchen?” He tries to keep his voice low.

 

“Why would I do that? He’s a guest!”

 

“Well, yeah. But…” He doesn’t really have any good arguments against that.

 

“It’s alright,” Felix says and squeezes his hand but it doesn’t feel alright to Carver at all.

 

“Sorry I left you in their clutches,” Carver mutters, ignoring Hawke’s jeering and whatever nonsense Varric’s saying to egg his friends on. Fenris sprawls comfortably at Hawke’s side, and Anders gives Carver a little wink. That he managed to get the holiday off, along with Bethany, was a testament to their manager’s endless compassion.

 

“You worry too much,” Felix says, and Bethany nods resolutely.

 

“He does! How can you be so afraid someone will eat him when Isabela isn‘t even in the room.”

 

“Speak of the devil.” Isabela curls her fingers around one of Carver‘s shoulders and rests her chin on the other. “Oh my,” she purrs, and Carver just knows she‘s giving Felix a roaming eye. “Look at you. Carver, why haven‘t you introduced us, you naughty thing?”

 

“For so many reasons,” Carver says. Felix takes the leering in stride with grace. “Felix, this is Isabela.”

 

“Felix Alexius,” he says, and Isabela slithers from Carver‘s shoulders to shake his hand. He‘d let go of Carver‘s to extend it. Watching it disappear between both of Isabela‘s, flashing rings and dark skin, he finds he quite wants it back.

 

“That‘s a nice name,” Merrill says, popping up next. Felix smiles, and takes her hand as well. “I‘m Merrill!”

 

“It‘s very nice to meet you both,” Felix says.

 

“The big girl's not here, too busy spending time with her husband's family. And Sebastian couldn‘t make it,” Isabela pouts, making room at her side for Merrill to weave an arm around her waist. “A shame, really. You know there‘s no prettier conversation fodder for Leandra. Just throw him at her, and she‘s taken care of for the next two glasses.”

 

Bethany‘s sigh edges on this side of forlorn. “A shame,” she parrots.

 

“Well,” Isabela says, leaning conspiratorially toward Felix, “you‘ll do just as well in his place. The pretty part - we won‘t throw you to Leandra. Not today, at least.”

 

“She‘s been a gracious host,” Felix says diplomatically. “Although, I‘ve still yet to meet her.”

 

A wash of relief goes through Carver; at least he didn‘t leave Felix alone long enough for him to meet Mother.

 

“Varric says you’re a good cook,” Merrill says, edging a little closer to Felix.

 

Felix looks at Carver, seeking help. “Oh, that's kind of him…”

 

“Don’t let him be modest, Daisy,” Varric calls from the couch. “He’s excellent!”

 

Merrill beams at Felix. “Are you making something for dinner today?”

 

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Felix nods. “We brought some food.”

 

With a relieved sigh, Merrill leans back against Isabela. “Oh, good. I don't like Leandra’s food.” She scrunches up her face in disgust. "Too much salt. Don’t tell her i said that. She gets awfully stern.”

 

Carver silently thanks the Maker for sending Merrill from whatever little corner of heaven He must have plucked her from. As she listens to Felix describe the dishes they brought with them, she nods wide-eyed and makes delighted little noises whenever he mentions something she particularly likes. He can feel Felix relax next to him, his shoulders just a little less tense and his smile a bit easier.

 

He still needs Felix to reassure him twice more before he feels comfortable enough to leave the two of them alone for a few minutes while he lets Isabela drag him away to get some drinks.

 

“You are a lucky man, Carver Hawke,” she says while way too at ease with rummaging through his mother’s liquor cabinet. “That boy is a delight.”

 

“Thanks,” Carver mumbles and accepts the two bottles of rum she pushes into his hands.

 

“Gorgeous pair of eyes on him,” she goes on, and behind them Carver hears a snort.

 

“That isn‘t the compliment it sounds,” Fenris says, reaching for the Tevene brand of wine that Felix had brought. “Given a moment, she‘ll suggest plucking them out and wearing them as jewelry.”

 

“A girl makes a joke, _one time_ ,” Isabela sighs, taking the wine directly from Fenris‘ hand. She pours some into her own glass, despite his grumbling, and offers some to Carver before handing it back. “But he is lovely, isn‘t he, Fenris? Did you hear his voice? Like an angel. You Tevinters and your gorgeous vocal chords...”

 

“Do you hope to fashion them into pendants?”

 

She pinches his ass on her way back to the hoard, cackling at his scandalized expression. Carver shrugs and trails after her, rum in hand. On the way, he snags a can of cranberry juice for Felix to mix with at his leisure.

 

To Carver’s horror, Fenris’ absence has left a seat next to his older sibling free.

 

Well.

 

Free, except for Felix’s arse.

 

Felix already has a glass in hand, topped with something rich and dark, and the grin on the eldest Hawke’s face is positively shit-eating.

 

“What are you making him drink?” Carver asks, brow furrowed, before he turns instead to address Felix, forcibly softening his expression. “You don’t have to drink that.”

 

“First of all, I’m not _making_ him drink anything,” Hawke tuts. “And all you’re doing is making me seem predatory.” And then turning back to Felix, “I’m very nice. Has he mentioned that?”

 

Felix smiles and blinks and Carver wants to knock something over. Possibly Hawke. Possibly that glass right out of Felix’ hand.

 

“You really don’t have to drink that,” he repeats instead, glaring at Hawke.

 

“No, it’s fine.”

 

Hawke’s smile turns sly. “Didn't you hear him, Carver? It’s fine. It’s just a little something a good friend of mine sent me. Nice man, really. Huge horns. And this… Oh.”

 

Whatever Hawke expected to happen, it certainly wasn’t Felix taking a generous gulp from his glass before Hawke even finished speaking. The mixture of horror and surprise on Hawke’s face might just be the most terrifying part of it.

 

“What _was_ that?” Carver hisses at Hawke and then grabs Felix’s shoulder. Part of him expects him to catch fire or crumble to the floor wheezing. He wouldn’t put it past Hawke to poison his boyfriend for a laugh.

 

Felix has his eyes closed and his mouth in a tight line. Slowly but surely splotches of red appear on his cheeks.

 

“Felix?” Carver asks but Felix just raises one hand to tell him to wait. He swallows, frowns and swallows once more before opening his eyes.

 

He clears his throat and before anyone can say something, places the glass back into Hawke’s hand. “Thank you,” he says, his voice strangely hoarse. “But I prefer something a little sweeter.”

 

Isabela gasps and claps once, jumping up. “You’re marvelous! You deserve a mojito! Give me the rum, Puppy, I’m going to treat this man.”

 

Carver gladly hands everything over to fetch a glass of water from the pitcher on the coffee table. He perches on the arm of the sofa on Felix’s other side and hands it over to Felix, who takes it gratefully.

 

“Shit,” Varric laughs, “most people know better than to drink anything Hawke concocts. Sunshine won’t even vouch for it. You’ve got nerves, kid.”

 

“And they’ll all be dead now that you’ve drunk that,” Merrill sighs dreamily, resting her head on Varric’s shoulder.

 

Isabela reappears from the kitchen a few minutes later and hands a tall glass to Felix. Carver can see his eyes light up - predictably - at the sight of _leaves_ floating about between bubbles and cubes of ice.

 

“Aren’t you going to share that with the rest of the class?” Anders asks, tipping forward with great interest. Isabela waves him off.

 

“When you do something to deserve it. Drink up, sweet thing! You’ll never have better.”

 

“I have to agree with Anders,” Hawke protests as Felix takes the glass and has a sip. Then another. And then drinks deeply.

 

The gleam in Isabela’s eyes spells danger.

 

“Easy there, Doe-Eyes,” Varric chuckles. “Isabela uses more rum than soda in those.”

 

“As the Maker intended.”

 

“I think he’s proven more than enough that he can handle it,” Anders says. “But if that’s what it’s going to take to get you to make me a drink, I’ll make my own.”

 

“Yes please,” Hawke says and holds out one hand to Anders to be pulled up from the couch. “I think I need one as well. I’m still in shock.” Hawke leans down to Felix and gives him a heartfelt look. “I can’t believe I ever called you a fragile flower.”

 

Felix’s smile is more amused than confused. “You did?”

 

“A grave error on my part, obviously. My deepest apologies”

 

Once Anders has led Hawke away to the liquor cabinet, Carver immediately slips into the empty spot next to Felix. He lets his hand slide in his and brushes his thumb across his knuckles. “You alright?”

 

Felix turns his head and smiles. He looks a little flushed and Carver isn’t sure if it’s from whatever Hawke made him or from the ungodly amount of rum in his mojito. But at least he looks more at ease than Carver has seen him all night.

 

“I’m good,” Felix says. “And this drink is good. You should have one. Do you want to try mine?”

 

“I’ll pass,” he says. Felix bites his lip to keep from laughing. Carver blinks. “What?”

 

“Because of the mint?” he asks, plucking out a leaf.

 

“Because I’m _driving_.”

 

“Ah, of course.” His cheeks must ache from how wide his smile is. Carver’s tempted to mention pickles right in this moment, if only to take Felix away and have him all to himself.

 

“This is just too much,” Isabela says, watching them from her perch on the coffee table. At Carver’s scowl, she props her chin on both hands and sighs. “You two make quite the picture.”

 

“Fuck off,” Carver says, draping an arm over the back of the sofa. Felix rests his head against it not a moment later.

 

“This is delicious,” Felix tells Isabela, just in time to cut Carver off from saying something unflattering about her hair. “Would you teach me how you make it?”

 

“I’d love nothing more,” Isabela says, smiling wickedly. “You’ll have to invite me around. We’ll trade recipes.”

 

“You’re off your head,” Carver snorts.

 

“I will,” Felix says, and takes a deep drink.

 

Which is precisely the moment Leandra walks into the room, hands clasped before her. “Dinner’s ready. Please, come help yourselves.”

 

Carver watches her eyes find Felix, with the glass to his lips, and stands to intercept her gaze. He doesn’t know why, exactly, he feels this protective urge, but it’s there.

 

“Mum,” he says and hopes his smile doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “You haven’t even met Felix.”

 

“Indeed,” she says and he would have missed the tiny twitch in the corner of her eyes if he didn’t know to look for it. Perhaps Bethany should have convinced her to drink more than two glasses.

 

Felix, always the picture of politeness, rises and approaches her himself to shake her hand and thank her for the invitation. His smile is warm even when faced with Leandra’s reluctance. Carver notices that the glass of mojito has disappeared from his hand.

 

His mother does that thing where she manages to act both polite and just a little bit startled by her own guest’s presence. He must have seen this play out a hundred times since he was a child but he doesn’t think it has ever been met with such genuine sweetness as it is now.

 

“Alexius, is it?” Leandra asks as if she doesn’t know. “From Tevinter?” As if Carver hasn’t told her a thousand times already.

 

“Yes, Mother,” Bethany cuts in and pats her on the arm. “It’s the same Felix we’ve been telling you about for months.”

 

“Bethany…” But at least Leandra has the decency to look a little bit embarrassed. She regains her smile. “So, I saw you brought quite a bit of food. I’m surprised you even found space in the fridge, Carver.” Her eyes flick to Felix. “I’m not sure how many more dishes we really need for this dinner.”

 

“Oh, it’s not as much as it seems,” Felix says pleasantly. “Carver has been talking about your Satinalia turkey for weeks now. So we only brought a few side dishes to complement it.”

 

“Has he?” Leandra turns her gaze back to Carver and looks genuinely pleased.

 

“Of course,” Felix assures. The smile he wears now for Carver’s mother is the same one Carver all but fell over himself for the day they first met. Whatever her reasons, Leandra couldn’t possibly keep so distant from him now that she’s seen it.

 

Naturally, Hawke chooses this moment to stride past them all with a quick kiss on their mother’s cheek.

 

“Everyone, quick, get something to eat before Anders absorbs it all.”

 

“Oh, ha ha,” Anders snarks back, wandering past with Isabela and Merrill. Carver gently nudges Felix to go along with them while Bethany has their mother caught in conversation.

 

“She seems very nice,” Felix tells him once they’re in the dining room. Carver glances aside at him and it might be the alcohol, but Felix seems genuine. He’s relaxed in a way Carver hasn’t really seen him since… well, since before he invited Felix along for the dinner nearly a week ago. Warmth pools in Carver’s chest, and he can feel his own expression soften.

 

“You need something to eat,” he says, nudging at Felix’s fingers with his own. “What would you like?”

 

Isabela waves at them from down the long table, insisting Felix fill the empty space beside her. Carver settles next to him, and finds himself spooning anything in reach onto Felix’s plate while Isabela distracts him with some tale or other.

 

It’s a good mix somehow, the familiar foods of Carver’s childhood paired with the dishes Felix prepared.

 

“You didn’t make it… spicy,” he says to Felix, not meaning to sound so surprised.

 

Felix smiles, soft and relaxed. “I kept my audience in mind.” He helps himself to some of Leandra’s mashed potatoes. “But I’m glad you like it.”

 

Carver takes a special liking to the star-shaped puff pastries filled with cranberries that Felix worked on all morning. He even tries some of the suspicious couscous dish with dates, cashews and pomegranate - now that he’s prepared for how the seed pop when he bites down on them.

 

Once he has ensured that Felix’s plate is filled and has tried most of the food himself, he dares to look around the table to see the reactions of the others. He looks up just in time to see his mother take a bite out of one the pastries, her eyes going wide with surprise.

 

“And you made these?” she asks Felix from across the table.  

 

“I did,” he says. Hawke groans in elation at their mother’s side, mouth full of tartlet - blue cheese and pear, Carver thinks with a twist of his mouth - looking close to tears. “Felix,” Hawke pleas, and Carver can’t help but watch his older sibling with a wary eye, “leave Carver. Come stay with me instead.”

 

“It won’t work,” Bethany sighs at their mother’s other side. “I’ve already asked him.”

 

“That’s quitter talk,” Hawke insists, swiping two more from the plate before Anders can finish reaching for one. “One of us has to know how to put up a convincing argument, and you’re too quick to forfeit.”

 

“Is this butternut squash?” Merrill asks on Isabela’s other side, chewing thoughtfully on a pastry between her fingers. “And sage?”

 

“It is,” Felix confirms. He’s lowered his voice, almost demure. Carver wonders when he last was put on display like this. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, though, so Carver leaves it for now.

 

“It’s wonderful! I love sage!” Merrill says, eating the rest of the tart in one bite.

 

Carver catches Hawke attempting to hand-feed Fenris something he “absolutely must try - look, it’s not even fish!” and Anders has his plate piled high. Bethany’s sighing over three different kinds of potatoes, Varric’s busy trying to convince Merrill not to stuff too many tarts in her mouth at once while Isabela encourages her instead, and Leandra…

 

Well, she’s not displeased. Carver doesn’t focus quite so much on Leandra.

 

He leans over to Felix, who tends to be the quietest in a room regardless of the company, and lowers his voice to keep his words between only the two of them. “Do you need any dill pickles?” he asks, catching Felix’s eyes.

 

Felix blinks twice before his lips curl into a smile. The affection Carver can see in his eyes makes the back of neck tingle pleasantly. “I think I’m good for now,” Felix says, his voice just as low as Carver’s. “How about you?”

 

“I’m good as long as you are,” he says and isn’t even a little bit ashamed by how unabashedly true it rings.

 

Felix’ hand on his thigh underneath the table comes as a surprise - not high enough to make him blush but with a soft brush of his thumb that sends a pleasant shiver through him anyway. Felix’ smile is perfectly innocent as he picks up his water glass. “But I think after dinner and perhaps another of Isabela’s delicious mojitos…” His voice trails off and Carver watches the line of his neck as he takes a sip of water.

 

Carver finds he doesn’t care about dinner all that much anymore.

 

“Ah, you’re whispering,” Isabela pipes up from Felix’ other side. “I hope it’s something naughty?” She leans forward to wink at Carver who feels his cheeks heating up immediately. Felix’ hand stills but stays where it is. “Oh, so it is,” Isabela says, just marginally more quiet, and props her chin on her hand. “Do tell.”

 

“I was mentioning your drinks,” Felix says, with a little smile, and Isabela’s smile grows teeth.

 

“You took yours down pretty quickly, sweet thing,” she says. Her gold, drooping earrings wink in the candlelight. “Are you sure you can handle more?”

 

“I can handle quite a lot,” Felix says amicably. Isabela’s eyes flick to Carver.

 

“Oh, I believe you.”

 

Carver chokes on his bite of turkey. Trying valiantly to hide his amusement, Felix hands Carver his own glass of water, and Carver takes it gladly. He nearly chokes on that, too, when Felix gives his thigh a little squeeze.

 

“Are you alright, dear?” his mother calls from down the table which, if possible, only makes things worse.

 

“Fine,” he insists, meeting both Isabela’s and Felix’s smiles with ire. “A glass of rum in you, and you’ve already turned on me,” he mutters to Felix, and isn’t at all charmed by Felix’s little laugh.

 

“Never, amatus.” He gives Carver’s thigh another squeeze, and quickly turns away to stop himself watching his face. Carver feels a little betrayed by himself for quickly becoming the butt of a joke when the only reaction he can muster is a faint protest; it’s made worse that the protest only masks the painful curiosity he feels for whether or not Felix would still taste like mint and rum if he kissed him.

 

“You know,” Felix says to Isabela, keeping his hand light on Carver’s thigh, “I heard that in Antiva, they use this sweet almond liqueur for their mojitos. In addition to the rum. I have never tried it but I hear it’s very good.”

 

“I hate to mess with a winning recipe,” Isabela muses. “But I do like something a little sweet from time to time.” The wink she gives Carver is absolutely unnecessary but it’s very difficult to glower efficiently with Felix’ thumb drawing small circles through the fabric of his jeans.

 

He's saved by dessert - one more reason to love his mother’s chocolate cake. She tops it with ice cream and more chocolate sauce than should be legal, and he is usually the only one at the table who even manages to finish his piece. This year, they brought Felix’ lemon cream as a lighter alternative and Carver makes sure to leave at least a little bit of space to try it as well.

 

Isabela gets Felix the promised second drink and judging by the look on his face it’s either even better or even stronger than the last one. Perhaps both. When the last of the cake and cream is eaten, they make their way back to sitting room, full and content. Leandra, who has at least two more glasses of wine with dinner, is meek as a lamb at Bethany’s side.

 

“I feel bad that you can’t try this,” Felix sighs and takes another sip of his drink. “Next time we’ll take the bus.”

 

The mention of a next time gives Carver pause. “You mean when you decide not to bring enough food for an entire army?”

 

“A few select side dishes,” Felix says and gently bumps his hip against Carver’s. “And you don’t need to look so surprised. I don’t think you need to hide me from your family any longer.”

 

“Not hiding,” Carver says, settling a little closer on the sofa to Felix. “Maybe… shielding?”

 

“Why would I need shielding?”

 

Carver casts his gaze around the room at everyone at varying stages of drunkenness. Merrill has long since passed out, her head pillowed on Isabela’s lap, keeping her anchored from flitting about the room, spreading evil. Bethany’s gone nearly as red as their mother, but chatty with their eldest sibling. Fenris has easily drunk more than all of them, and the smile on his face is the proof, leaning in to hear the other Hawkes’ conversation with occasional, low bursts of laughter. Anders is telling Varric some story or another, mostly with his hands. “... You’ve met them, right?”

 

Felix chuckles, leaning into him.

 

Carver still doesn’t know why his mother’s kept Felix at a distance. He doesn’t understand it, and furthermore, doesn’t know if he wants to. But he hopes that this evening, at least, will have thawed whatever reservations she’s kept.

 

Felix finishes his glass and sets it aside, his head a comfortable weight against Carver’s shoulder.

 

It’s a good thing.

 

He doesn’t want to wait for it to sour.

 

“Dill pickle,” he mutters against Felix’s temple, pressing a kiss there as an afterthought. Felix hums quietly.

 

“Oh, good,” he says with a little sigh. “I was worried you’d have to carry me out in front of all these lovely people.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You know, this never would have happened back in Tevinter.” Felix waves a bundle of spring onions in Carver’s face, close enough for Carver to take a careful step back. “The South has ruined him!”

 

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating just a bit?” Carver asks but it only earns him a little glare and as a precaution, he relieves Felix of the spring onions. “What were you trying to do with these, anyway?”

 

Felix perks up, momentarily taken out of his irritation. “Ah, I thought I could make this really nice dip I tried in Val Royeaux when I was there last time.”

 

“Felix…” Carver tries not to look too pained.

 

“Alright, alright. You don’t need to make that face.” Felix sighs. “Put them back then. Store-bought is fine,” he adds in his best impression of one of those long-suffering cooks on television.

 

Carver puts the onions back in the produce section and follows Felix with the shopping cart down the aisle.

 

“I can’t believe that he, _Dorian Pavus_ , told me to tone it down. Dorian, of all people!”

 

Carver brushes his fingers against the nape of Felix’ neck when he finally slows down enough for him catch up. “Dorian loves your food. You know that.”

 

“He told me to _tone it down_ ,” Felix repeats, and for a moment there, he looks genuinely hurt.

 

“Yeah, but only because his friends are more… like me.” He tries for a reassuring smile and is glad to see that the corner of Felix’s mouth twitches at least a little bit.

 

“You try everything I cook for you,” Felix points out, turning his body slightly towards him.

 

Carver laughs and snakes one arm around Felix’s waist to pull him closer. “That’s because you’re the one who makes it.” He presses a quick kiss to the top of Felix’s head. “And you _have_ toned it down for me, on occasion.”

 

Felix scrunches up his nose. “Yes. Because I love you.”

 

“Can‘t you two have these married moments _outside_ of the produce section?”

 

Carver glances over his shoulder at Velanna, tagging the beets. Her stare is deader than his, and her glares more potent, so Carver doesn‘t even try.

 

“I saw Sigrun put a hand up your shirt by the cereal last Friday.”

 

Her gaze only darkens.

 

“Delete it from memory.”

 

“Believe me, I‘ve tried.”

 

Felix touches Carver‘s elbow. “Apologies, Velanna. We didn‘t mean to trouble you.”

 

She waves him off with a noise of disdain. “Bring me more of those abyssal peach custard pies, and all is forgiven.”

 

It‘s precisely the right thing to say. Felix brightens instantly, like a ray of sunlight. Velanna has to squint to look directly at him. “I‘d be glad to.”

 

“Sigrun tried your recipe with Hirol‘s Lava Burst,” she says, her expression grim. “The substitution was....

 

“Ill-advised?” Felix suggests.

 

“ _Vile_.”

 

Carver snorts. “Should‘ve followed his recipe then, shouldn‘t she?”

 

Velanna‘s eyes narrow, but Felix is looking at him in a way that promises great things in Carver‘s future, though he‘s really sure why.

 

“You two should come over some time. I tried a new pie recipe last week I’m sure you would love. Cherries and Silent Plains Piquette,” Felix says, perfectly sincere and completely content with ignoring the strangled noise of protest Carver makes at his side.

 

Velanna’s eyes flick to Carver and back to Felix, a small steep line between her eyebrows. “I’ll ask Sigrun,” she says and goes back to tagging the beets.

 

Carver follows Felix out of the produce section and waits until they’re out of earshot. “Why would you invite her? She’s so… _mean_!”

 

“She’s your co-worker,” Felix says and drops a packet of flour into the cart. “And she’s not mean. She’s just a bit prickly.”

 

Carver huffs. “Last week she made a costumer cry. I can’t believe they let her work the store while I’m stuck back in the stockroom.”

 

“You like working in the stockroom,” Felix reminds him with a little smile.

 

“That’s beside the point.”

 

“And you like Sigrun.”

 

Carver shrugs. “Everyone likes Sigrun.”

 

Felix laughs and takes a quick look over his shoulder before taking Carver’s hand and pulling him close again. It’s a quick kiss, nothing more than a brush of his lips against Carver’s, but his smile up close like this is still dizzying - even after all this time.

 

“What was that for?” Carver asks, keeping his hand on the small of Felix’ back.

 

“Defending the honor of a recipe you don‘t even like was very gallant of you,” he says, giving Carver space to man the cart again. “I appreciate it.”

 

“Who says I don‘t like your weird liquor pies?”

 

Felix coughs, hiding a smile against his fist. “Of course,” he says, scanning the shelves. “How presumptuous of me.”

 

When it becomes increasingly obvious that Felix has no idea the kinds of foods to get for a wide variety of Dorian's hooligan friends, Carver delicately steers them toward the snack aisles. He tosses in bag after bag of candy-coated chocolates, corn chips (“I could make those,” he hears Felix muse, mostly to himself) and cookies (“Is store-bought really so preferable?”). Carver takes pity when they reach the salsa, and Felix looks truly wounded when he picks a jar at random.

 

“Alright,” Carver says, gently putting the jar back before he raises a finger. “Salsa‘s already weird enough on its own. Just... do whatever fruity... salty... spicy thing you want with it.”

 

Felix‘s resigned expression grows light.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, why not. Dorian‘ll regret it if you don‘t make _anything_.”

 

Felix grabs his arm and beams at him like a kid in a candy store. If Carver’s honest, that alone makes it worth it. He would eat a hundred bowls of whatever weird Felix concoctions if only to make him smile like that.

 

“Alright, we need to go back to the produce section. I’ve seen some tomatoes that looked really good. And fresh cilantro.” He pauses and looks at Carver. “Do you think we still have cumin in the pantry?”

 

“I… don’t know,” Carver says while trying to remember what cumin is.

 

“Oh, we’ll buy some, just in case.”

 

By now, Carver has taken Felix grocery shopping often enough to know how completely unorganized he tackles the task. The chaos of it all is so unlike him that Carver cannot help but still be baffled by the way he runs back and forth through the store, picking up things in one aisle and remembering that he needs something from the other end of the store, only to come back five minutes later because he's forgotten something utterly vital.

 

Felix claims it’s because he changes and adds to the recipe in his head while he looks for the ingredients but Carver isn't so sure about that. He finds it charming, in any case.

 

Velanna is gone from the produce section once they return and Carver is glad for it, because Felix immediately starts prodding the tomatoes.

 

“You’re not really supposed to do that, you know?”

 

Felix ignores him. “Feel these,” he says and holds out a pair of tomatoes to him. “Do you think these are ripe enough?”

 

“Love,” he says gently. “I honestly wouldn’t know.”

 

“Right.” Felix shakes his head. “They will do.”

 

He agonizes over avocados for what feels like an eternity. The clock reads only three minutes - Carver has been watching - but he’s sure it must be wrong. Still, when Felix bags up four of them looking happier than he’s been all evening, it makes it easier to brace for the next stop.

 

“They’ll want drinks,” Carver reminds him when Felix peers over the produce at large, far too inspired. Felix blinks and looks over at him.

 

“Yes,” he agrees, and then, “oh. You mean to look for them.”

 

“Yes?” Carver tries to suss him out. When it clicks, he can’t help the little laugh. “You want to _make_ them.”

 

“This is not unique only to me,” Felix says defensively. “Many people make drinks. Several of them are your friends.”

 

“Yeah,” Carver says, leaning forward and raising his eyebrows, “but _you_ wanted to do something _fancy_.”

 

“It was hardly -!” Felix starts, and stops himself. He looks away for a moment before turning back, clearly trying not to smile. “Alright. It was. But I would consider ‘fanciness’ relative.”

 

“Well, your highness, get thee to the lager aisle, because that’s all they’re getting out of us.”

 

Felix sighs dramatically. “If we must.” He leans against the cart. “I thought you’d at least let me buy something that actually complements the food.”

 

“Lager complements everything. That’s why it’s such an excellent choice.”

 

“A compromise then,” Felix says and gives him his most innocent smile. “I agree to the lager. But only the good stuff. Top shelf.”

 

“Ah,” Carver says, steering the cart into the liquor aisle. “Are you only saying that because you want to watch me stretch again?”

 

Felix’s cheeks darken. “I never should have told you that.”

 

Carver laughs. “I think it’s marvelous that that was your first impression of me.”

 

Felix clicks his tongue and stops in front of the lager, scanning the shelf. “Actually, my _first_ impression was your typical Southern charm. The… rest came later.”

 

“Mhmm.” Carver doesn’t even try to hide his grin as he catches Felix eyeing one of the bottles on the highest shelf. “My first impression was you looking completely lost in the snack aisle.”

 

“Do you want to keep teasing me or actually use that impressive height of yours to get me that bottle from the top? Blue label.”

 

Carver clears his throat and swaggers the couple of strides it takes to the shelf. He looks askance at Felix, just to make sure he’s watching, and winks before stretching. With a few unnecessary flexes, he takes one case after the other, until five of them rest in the cart.

 

“How’s that for southern charm?” he asks, glancing back at Felix.

 

“No other charm compares,” Felix insists, and makes no secret of how his eyes linger on Carver’s body.

 

Quite suddenly, Carver’s grateful they’re near the end of their shopping trip. By the look in Felix’s eye, he’s thinking the same thing.

 

“You know,” Felix says quietly, stepping closer. “I remember that first time very well. I remember exactly how I felt in each moment, but… none so vividly as I did when I saw your shirt ride up with you when you stretched. And how badly I wanted to…” He reaches out, brushing his fingers over Carver’s stomach.

 

Carver tries to swallow, but his mouth is dry. All this alcohol around him, and nothing to drink.

 

Felix’ fingers trail up his chest and follow the slope of his shoulder until he can curl them lightly around Carver’s upper arm. “I had several thoughts that day,” he murmurs. “A lot of them including your biceps.” His hand runs down his arm, feather-light, until he can lace his fingers between Carver’s. “And your hands, mostly.”

 

He looks up at him through his thick lashes and Carver can feel his belly clench, almost painfully. “Is that why you made me get that phone out of your back pocket?” His voice sounds strangely hoarse but steady enough considering the rapid beat of his heart.

 

“That wasn’t exactly planned,” Felix admits, stepping a bit closer. “But very interesting indeed. Informative, one might say.”

 

“You know,” Carver says, “there _is_ another advantage to Dorian only allowing you to cook simple food.” He has to keep his eyes trained on something other than Felix’s lips.

 

“Is there?” Felix is close enough to press himself against Carver and it’s very, very distracting.

 

“You have so much more time. For… other things.”

 

“Of all the - _Creators_ , what have I said!”

 

Carver leaps back, and Felix hastily grabs at the cart, ruddy-cheeked and startled. Velanna glares at them both at the end of the aisle, positively furious. “Exhibitionists! You’re unbelievable!”

 

“We were just leaving,” Carver snaps, grabbing the cart with one hand and nudging Felix with the other away from her.

 

Velanna probably curses them long after they’re out of sight, but once they’re nearly at checkout, Felix presses a hand to his mouth. He’s laughing, Carver knows he is - positively _giggling_ about being caught out twice in a supermarket. “You’re a silly bastard,” Carver tells him, thumping him between the shoulders.

 

Felix can’t speak until they’re in line, and wipes a tear away. “I don’t know what came over me,” he insists, his voice thick and full of mirth. “Honestly, as though I was about to -” he quickly lowers his voice, as though just remembering how public this conversation is, “go down on my knees in the middle of the beer aisle.”

 

“Oh.” Carver tries very hard not to drop the lager he’s lugging onto the conveyor belt. He clears his throat and feels himself going hot all over. “Uh.”

 

“I’m not helping, am I?” Felix looks up at him, his eyes dark and gleaming.

 

Carver puts a hand on the small of his back to gently guide him forward. “Not really.” He places the tomatoes and cilantro on the conveyor belt, trying to keep his focus. “It’s not… I’m not complaining.”

 

Felix’s gaze is more heated than it has any right to be. He opens his mouth to say something but before any words can come out, they reach the front of the line.

 

“Carver!” Bethany calls out and smiles.

 

The universe has a messed up sense of humor.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

 

Bethany looks to Felix, confusion obvious on her face. “Are you alright? You look a little flushed.”

 

“We’re fine,” Felix says quickly, storing their purchases in a plastic bag as soon as she hands them over. “Just surprised to see you here.”

 

“I work here.”

 

“We’ve noticed,” Carver snaps and Felix bites his lip to keep from laughing.

 

She looks just as confused as Felix had when she rings up all the junk food. Funnily enough, she looks up at Felix with concern. “Are you really alright, Felix?”

 

“Yes, Bethany,” he says, his smile confused. She blushes.

 

“Only that… I’ve never seen you with this sort of… fare?”

 

Carver can’t help it - he laughs.

 

“Dorian’s having some friends over,” Felix explains, watching her ring up the chips and cookies with some distaste. “I’ve been asked to… to stem my creativity.”

 

“ _No_. Not Dorian!” Bethany looks properly scandalized, and Carver only laughs harder.

 

Felix fishes Dorian’s card out of his wallet for the lot of it, and accepts Bethany’s condolences graciously.

 

“Tell him Ferelden has corrupted him,” she calls after them when they are on their way to the door. “And that I am personally offended!”

 

Felix turns around despite Carver urging him on. “That’s what I said.”

 

Carver is still snickering when they reach Felix’s car and start putting away their bags.

 

“We should have invited Bethany,” Felix says and closes the trunk. “Then I would have had an excuse to… _Oh_.”

 

As soon as his hands are free, Carver grabs Felix and crowds him against the side of the car. He is fairly certain they might be in a part of the parking lot where neither grumpy co-workers nor nosy family members can see them but at this point he’s not even sure he’d care anymore.

 

“You’re impossible,” he tells Felix, tucking his thumbs in Felix's belt loops.

 

Felix’s surprise gives way to a slow smile. “Am I?”

 

Instead of answering, Carver chooses to kiss him.

 

Felix slips his hands inside Carver’s jacket, curling under the t-shirt at the small of his back. He sighs sweetly against Carver’s mouth, pulling him closer.

 

Carver cups the back of his neck and forces himself to pull back a long moment later, giving into temptation to return when Felix stares up at him with dark eyes, his lips red and wet and parted. He’s not strong enough.

 

It’s Felix in the end who breaks away, pressing his face to Carver’s shoulder. Someone across the lot whistles, and Carver can feel himself bristle, shuffling in to cover Felix from whatever asshole watches on.

 

“Let’s go home,” Felix says, shivering lightly at the spring breeze. Carver couldn’t agree more.

 

Carver gets behind the wheel and takes a few deep breaths to steady himself before starting the car. He can feel Felix’s gaze on him the short drive home, and from the corner of his eye he can see him clutching his hands in his lap as if he has to hold himself back from reaching over the center console. Carver forces himself to keep his eyes on the road.

 

He parks the car in front of the house and they carry the groceries inside. As soon as Carver has put down his bags on the kitchen table, he turns around and pulls Felix close again. He can feel him laughing more than he hears it as he presses his lips against Felix’s neck.

 

“Some of these need to go into the fridge,” Felix protests weakly, his hands pushing against Carver’s chest.

 

“I don’t care,” Carver says, hands already slipping underneath Felix’s shirt.

 

Felix is a little bit more resolute when he pulls away this time. “Yes you do. If it goes bad we have to go back to the store.” He smiles. “Think of all that wasted time.”

 

Carver groans but lets him go, albeit reluctantly.

 

Felix is just putting the last of the perishables away when Carver’s phone rings. “Oh, sod _off_ ,” he growls, and powers the whole thing down. Felix watches him with a little surprise, a little amusement, and Carver doesn’t tell him he was one second away from drowning the thing in the sink. “Don’t say a word,” he says, tossing his coat off onto one of the chairs. “Don’t care if it was important. I couldn’t give a rat’s hairy ass if the _Chantry_ was on fire right now.”

 

“That’s not very Andrastian of you,” Felix says smoothly, washing his hands in the sink. Carver runs a hand down his back.

 

“Yeah, well, neither are any of the things I’m thinking of doing to you right now.”

 

“I’d never really considered sacrilege arousing before,” Felix laughs, and it turns to a sharp breath when Carver crowds him against the sink and presses his teeth to the side of Felix’s neck. “Oh - oh, let me turn this off, come on, my room -”

 

“I could happily have you in the back garden right now,” Carver says, rucking Felix’s shirt up.

 

“I’m sure the neighbors would appreciate that,” Felix laughs breathlessly. “I’m not so wild about traumatizing Dorian when he gets back, though.”

 

Carver sighs, his dull nails scraping up and down Felix’s sides, something that never fails to make him moan. “Fine,” he says, his voice strained. “Your room, then.”

 

Felix laughs and once Carver gives him enough room, turns around to kiss him. It’s a slow one, almost gentle, but then he is out of Carver’s arms, pulling him towards his room.

 

The door isn’t even fully closed before Carver grabs Felix once more and spins him around so he can push him up against it. He knows how frantic his movements are, one leg already between Felix’s thighs and his hands impatiently tugging at his shirt. “Off,” he growls against Felix’ neck. “Now.”

 

“If you’d give me some room, you beast.” His laugh is wild and when Carver pulls back a bit, his eyes are wide and dark.

 

“Don’t want to,” he argues, petulantly, but he helps peel Felix bare, one article after another. Carver’s burning up, but as close as they are, it doesn’t take Felix long to shiver. He’s cold - he and Dorian are always cold - and his chilly fingertips bury themselves in Carver’s hair to tug him down for another kiss.

 

It’s awkward, but Carver can almost fully concentrate on Felix’s mouth as he tugs off his jeans and kicks them off onto the floor. His shirt comes next, but it takes a minute to convince Felix to let him go long enough to get it off. Once he does, though, Felix’s hands relocate to his chest, nails scratching lightly down to his stomach.

 

“Carver,” he groans, and gasps, delighted, when Carver hooks two hands under his thighs and hoists him up against the door. He clings to Carver’s shoulders, flushed down to his chest.

 

“Yeah,” Carver grunts, nosing under Felix’s jaw and biting at his salty skin. “Yeah. Felix, hold on.”

 

Felix laughs breathlessly into his hair as Carver carries him just so to the bed. There is more laughter when Carver lets Felix plop inelegantly down. Felix lies on the sheets in front of him, his cheeks and chest ruddy. His smile is warm and inviting, and when he reaches out to Carver with one hand, he feels a twinge of affection in his chest.

 

“Maker, you’re beautiful.”

 

He didn’t think it was possible for Felix to turn any redder, but he’s proven wrong. “Carver…” It’s almost pleading and when Carver finally lets himself be pulled down, Felix wraps his legs around him at once.

 

Carver kisses him, slow and languid, until he feels Felix’ body underneath him relaxing. When he gently nips at his bottom lip, Felix gasps and bares his throat, a clear invitation. He knows all of Felix’s sensitive spots - knows exactly how to mouth along the line of his neck to make him sigh. How to run his fingers down this sides of his ribcage to make him squirm into the bed. He’s so responsive to the smallest touch and Carver can't help but take advantage of it.

 

When he rolls his hips once, then twice, Felix’s fingers dig into his back, his nails sharp points against his skin. “Don’t tease,” he gasps, his gaze heavy.

 

“It’s not teasing,” Carver says and presses a kiss to his collarbone. “It’s... foretaste.”

 

Felix closes his eyes, Carver’s name spilling from his lips again and again while Carver hands wander further down. “ _Carver_ ,” he breathes when Carver hooks a hand around one thigh and hikes it up around his waist. Straddling the leg left on the bed, Carver slowly ruts between Felix’s open thighs.

 

He kisses Felix’s ear, and then his cheek when he whines, soft and low, with very little purchase to move back against Carver. “Oh, please,” he pants, turning his face to find Carver’s mouth with his.

 

Carver kisses him, and rocks against him, and it’s killing Felix by the sound of it.

 

“We’ve only just started,” Carver laughs breathily against his cheek.

 

“We started at the supermarket,” Felix argues, knocking his temple to Carver’s. His hands wander from Carver’s back to his chest, down his stomach, taking both of them in hand. “Amatus, I beg you -”

 

“ _Fuck_.” Carver bats his hand away, and it makes Felix laugh as much as it makes him growl.

 

“Let me!”

 

“Hold _on_ , you impatient…” He nips at Felix’s neck and resettles in between both of Felix’s legs. Felix takes the opportunity granted to lift the other around Carver’s hips, dragging himself upward against him. “Fuck.” Carver needs to still for a moment, eyes tightly shut and his breath shaky.

 

When he opens them he find Felix smiling at him. It would be an innocent look if he wasn't so debauched already. “But we’ve only just started,” he parrots Carver’s words, even if he has trouble keeping his voice steady.

 

“You’re impossible,” Carver says and leans down to kiss his neck. “I love you, but you’re _impossible_.”

 

“And you talk too much,” Felix complains, gasping sweetly when Carver’s teeth scrape across his skin.

 

Carver stretches a bit, until his breath is hot against Felix’s ear. “You love it when I talk,” he says, low and deep, and Felix bucks against him with a whine.

 

“Carver, please.” His hand wanders back between them and once again Carver pushes it away, only to curl his large hand around them both himself. He gives just a couple of strokes, too light to do anything but make Felix pant and writhe underneath him. When he looks up, he finds Felix heavy-lidded, his lips swollen from his kisses. “You _are_ teasing,” he accuses.

 

Carver presses his face in the crook of Felix’s shoulder to hide his laughter.

 

“I’m not,” he grunts, and slowly, carefully lowers himself over Felix. Carver keeps his weight mostly on one elbow and tips to the side, just enough so that he can knock his forehead to Felix’s and keep them both in hand without too much awkwardness.

 

He lets go a moment later and settles himself fully atop Felix, feels Felix’s legs slip down until his heels dig into the backs of Carver’s knees.

 

“You’re heavy,” Felix laughs, but Carver knows from experience that it’s far from a complaint.

 

Still, Carver grins and grapples with a protesting Felix until he’s rolled him on top instead. “Better, your majesty?”

 

Felix plants his hands on Carver’s chest and pushes himself up with a little grunt. “Oh, I think so,” he says, quite happily, and shifts himself enough to find the friction he needs against Carver’s stomach.

 

Carver reaches up and presses his hand on Felix’s chest, feeling his quick heartbeat underneath. “You’re gorgeous,” he says because it needs to be said and he loves how it makes Felix blush and bite his lip.

 

Felix leans down for a quick kiss before trailing lower, peppering Carver’s jaw and neck with kisses. He sucks a little mark into his skin right above his left collarbone and ruts against him, utterly shameless.

 

Carver groans. There is no time for teasing with Felix when he he rolls his hips like this, with purpose and a little glint of mischief in his eyes.

 

“Wait,” Carver says and reaches with one arm over to the nightstand, the weird angle making his hand grasp nothing but air. “Let me get…”

 

Felix laughs and crawls up Carver’s chest. “I’ll get it.” He can hear him open the drawer. “Why is there so much of your stuff in here? This is a mess.”

 

Carver runs one hand up Felix’s thigh and gives his ass a little smack. “D'you really want to talk about that right now?”

 

Still laughing, Felix settles back, the bottle of lube in his hand. “Not particularly.”

 

“No, go on,” Carver says, taking the bottle from his hand and squirting some in his palm. He takes them both in hand, drawing a long sigh from Felix. “Love it when you tell me how messy I am in bed.”

 

Felix laughs breathlessly, his back bowing as he tries to hold his weight up on wobbly arms. Carver can tell he’s trying to hold his hips still, and he leans over to kiss Felix’s arm by his head. “Gorgeous,” he insists, flicking his wrist to build the pace.

 

Felix pants, looking close to tears as the bed sheets crumple in his fists. “Carver,” he groans, hanging his head.

 

He’s _watching_ , Carver realizes, and his cock jerks at the thought. Carver nudges his hips up a bit, and Felix all but keens as he squeezes and rubs his thumb in circles over the head of his cock.

 

“Carver, I _can’t_ -”

 

“Got you, love, ‘s alright, I’ve got you.”

 

Felix gasps and falls to his elbows, his mouth hot against Carver’s shoulder.

 

Carver strokes him through it until he's whimpering, one last shudder running through him. His lips are on Carver’s neck, weak and soft, mumbling in Tevene. It’s enough to take Carver over the edge as well, every muscle in his body taut.

 

He might've called out Felix’s name, but he honestly cannot tell - his consciousness just a tiny bright spot in a sea of soothing bliss. But Felix props himself up on shaking arms to look at him, his eyes bright and a few tears still glistening on his cheeks.

 

“I’m here,” he says and kisses him. “I’m here.”

 

Felix is solid but he isn’t heavy, just a comfortable weight to keep him anchored.

 

Carver thinks about getting up and cleaning them both off before Felix has a mind to. But his thighs are like jelly, and Felix is tucked so sweetly against his chest, his face pressed to Carver’s throat, and he gives himself a couple more minutes of this to breathe.

 

Felix makes a pleased little satisfied noise against Carver’s neck, and Carver can feel him try to move, but ultimately decide against it. He snorts, raking his fingers over the shorn hairs at the back of Felix’s scalp.

 

“If you can get me to the shower in the next ten minutes,” Felix mumbles, nudging at his jaw, “I’ll suck you off.”

 

Carver’s spent dick twitches in spite of itself. “Oh yeah?” he asks, willing his limbs to move properly.

 

Then, of course, the doorbell rings.

 

Felix’s body, just seconds ago so soft and relaxed, tenses. That alone is enough for Carver to feel the annoyance building in his chest.

 

“I’m not above murder,” he growls as Felix pushes himself up and looks at him, his eyes wide.

 

“What if it’s a guest?” he asks, just a little panicked. “An early guest?”

 

Carver takes a quick look at both of them, sweaty and messy and definitely not fit for company. “Shit.”

 

Felix scrambles to the edge of the bed and despite everything, Carver is tempted to pull him back, already missing his warmth and the comfortable weight on his chest.

 

The doorbell rings again and Carver curses. “Alright,” he says quickly and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “You get into the shower. I’ll get the door.”

 

Felix gives him a skeptical look. “What about…” He makes an all-encompassing hand gesture. Carver groans and grabs a couple of tissues from the box on the nightstand to clean himself up. By the time he has wiggled into a pair of pajama bottoms and a shirt, the doorbell rings for a third time.

 

“Andraste’s tits!”

 

Felix is already at the door leading to the hallway but Carver stops him. “Let me check first,” he says, shielding Felix’s body with his as he opens the door. He’s pretty sure nobody’s in the house yet but he’s not about to risk Felix running into someone like this. Once he’s made sure that they’re still alone, he ushers Felix into the direction of the bathroom.

 

Carver stalks to the door and doesn’t even bother to school his expression into something more pleasant when he jerks it open.

 

Varric whistles lowly. “Hey, Junior. You’re looking a little worse for the wear.” He lifts a couple bottles of whiskey. “I might be able to help with that.”

 

“What are you doing here?” Carver gripes, but he reluctantly steps back to allow Varric his entrance. “You lot aren't supposed to get here for ages.”

 

“Yeah, but I thought I’d help set up before the rowdier bunch arrive.” Varric glances at him with a little grin. “I did call.”

 

Carver blinks, recalling the phone switched off on the kitchen table.

 

“Yeah, well,” he mumbles, scratching at his stomach and peeking down the hall. “I’m a little busy at the moment, so… make yourself at home, I guess. Do what you need to do.”

 

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Varric chuckles.

 

Carver glares at him, absolutely certain that Hawke will be informed of this as soon as he turns his back. “No,” he says. “We were sleeping.”

 

“Mhm…” Varric grins. “You wanna get into the shower before the others get here? You know… to wake up.”

 

Carver hates the blush that creeps up into his cheeks. “I was about to,” he says through gritted teeth. “Just… wait in the kitchen or the living room or whatever.” He doesn’t wait for Varric’s response before turning around and stalking down the hall.

 

“Say hi to Doe-Eyes for me!”

 

Carver slips into the bathroom that's already filling up with steam from the shower. Even through the foggy glass, he can see Felix turning around.

 

“It’s just Varric,” Carver says, pulling off his shirt.

 

“He’s early,” Felix calls over the rush of the water.

 

“Apparently he called.” He kicks off his pants. “Don’t say anything about turning off my phone now.”

 

He can hear Felix laughing. “Well, we had better get you clean fast then.” The glass door of the shower slides open and Felix offers him his hand. “Are you coming in?”

 

“I definitely intend to.”

 

Felix slowly shakes his head, and Carver grins, stepping in behind him. “I know. Terrible, aren’t I.”

 

“You’re certainly something,” Felix says agreeably. He turns his back to Carver to soap up his hair, and Carver has a perfect view of waves of suds sliding over the muscles of Felix’s back, his gorgeous arse. Carver swallows and hastily steals the soap to give himself a quick scrub, his torso, his arms. Felix gives him room to rinse his hair once it’s thoroughly clean, and turns back toward him.

 

The minute Carver’s rinsed off, Felix nudges him back a little.

 

“You just want to hog the hot water,” Carver says, accusatory, and Felix looks up at him with his lovely dark eyes, red mouth curved into a smile.

 

“I think I deserve it,” he says, drawing his nails down Carver’s chest. With enough space and nothing to stop him, Felix holds Carver’s eyes as he sinks to his knees.

 

“What about…” Carver nods towards the door, the objection in his voice as weak as his knees when Felix runs his hands up and down his thighs.

 

“I think he can find something to keep busy for a few minutes more,” Felix says and plants a kiss on Carver’s hipbone.

 

“Probably,” Carver agrees and finds he doesn’t care much either way as soon as Felix runs his tongue along the length of him. “ _Maker_ …”

 

Felix’s smile is just a little wicked as he curls his hand around him to give him a few lazy strokes. “If you’re planning on being this loud, I’m glad I didn’t do this in the middle of the beer aisle.” He swirls his tongue around the head of Carver’s cock, light and teasing until Carver gasps.

 

“Maker, your _mouth_ …”

 

It earns him another little grin before Felix stops his teasing and finally closes his lips around him, his eyes sliding closed.

 

Carver’s hand slides across the slippery surface of the wall when he reaches for purchase, so he reaches down to cup the back of Felix’s head instead. Felix intends to make quick work of him here like this, if the way he swallows him down, inch by inch, is any indication. He pulls back to suck at the head of Carver’s cock before swallowing him down, squeezing the base.

 

Carver has to shove his free fist into his mouth to remind himself to keep quiet, unable to take his eyes from Felix’s long, wet eyelashes, the red stretch of his mouth.

 

Felix glances up, and there’s a smile in his eyes before the hand holding firmly to his thigh creeps between Carver’s legs. He sucks, hard, with a timely squeeze to Carver’s balls, and Carver’s whimper bounces around the walls of the bathroom.

 

A pleased little hum from Felix vibrates through Carver’s dick, and two of his fingers slide back from his balls to his ass. Just a light pressure there, drawing small, tight circles around him.

 

“I’m going to die here,” Carver groans, utterly sure of it.

 

Felix laughs and it vibrates through him again, leaving him gasping, barely able to keep himself from bucking into Felix’s mouth. Agonizingly slowly, Felix presses into him - just one finger and only to the first knuckle. It’s hardly any pressure at all but in combination with Felix swallowing around him and the flutter of his lovely lashes, it’s all Carver needs. He comes with a little strangled cry, one hand still searching for something to hold on to on the slippery wall behind him. With the other he cups the side of Felix’s head until he sits back on his heels, one thumb discreetly wiping at the edge of his mouth.

 

Carver is shaking, not sure is his legs are going to hold him for much longer. He still manages to pull Felix up on his feet and to kiss him properly. “You’re brilliant,” he tells him, still breathless, and nudges him back a little bit so the hot water can run over him.

 

Felix laughs and pulls him close enough to share. “I figured you deserved it,” he says.

 

“Yeah?” Carver noses at his temple, the arms around Felix’ waist tired and heavy. “I didn’t even take you to the shower like you asked.”

 

“Still.” Felix plants a little kiss on his cheek, far too sweet and innocent for someone who was on his knees not two minutes ago.

 

Carver leans enough of his weight onto Felix to make him laugh. “Let’s sneak back to the room,” Carver mutters, one hand blindly seeking out Felix’s erection. “You can bugger me.”

 

“Stop it,” Felix snorts, batting his hand away. “We have a guest.”

 

“Who knew we were getting up to it even before we were,” Carver grumbles, reaching around to cup Felix’s ass instead. “He definitely expected this. C’mon. You don’t even have to _work_.”

 

“Cooking isn’t work,” Felix says, but he sounds thoughtful. Carver sways against him hopefully.

 

“It’s early, and he knows it. The other guests won’t be here for ages. You should fuck me, really.”

 

“You’re insatiable,” Felix tuts, and forces Carver to right himself. Carver definitely doesn’t pout. “What’s the look for? You’ve gotten off twice.”

 

“Want you to get off twice,” Carver says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Preferably inside me.”

 

“I know,” Felix says and reaches behind Carver to turn off the water. “But then we’d have to take another shower. And we’d be in the exact same spot as we are now. With Varric still waiting in the kitchen.”

 

“I could make it quick,” Carver tries one last time, his hand trailing along Felix’s hip. “We wouldn’t even have to shower afterwards.”

 

Felix retrieves his hand but now before cupping Carver’s ass for a good squeeze. He leans in close, his lips brushing the spot just below Carver’s ear. “I wouldn’t want it to be quick,” he says, his hand lingering. “I’d fuck you properly. Take my time.”

 

Carver makes a strangled sort of noise, acutely aware of Felix’ erection pressing against his thigh. “Or… you could do that,” he manages to grunt.

 

With a little chuckle, Felix pulls back and gets out of the shower. “Just a little something to think about.” He winks at Carver. “Dorian’s friends won’t be here forever, after all.”

 

“You’re a cruel, cruel man,” Carver says and stumbles out after him.

 

Felix smiles sweetly and pulls him in for a quick kiss. “Now get dressed. We’ve let Varric wait long enough.”

 

“He could _definitely_ wait longer,” Carver argues tugging a towel off the rack. He gives himself a quick rub down before notching it around his waist and peering out the door. With Felix in a similar state of undress behind him, he hustles him back to the bedroom while the coast is clear.

 

Getting dressed is a quick affair made lengthy by the way Felix picks his clothes with great care, and Carver teases him for it, stripping the bed and making it again despite Felix’s promises of Later.

 

The knowing look in Varric’s eyes when they make their way back to the kitchen wouldn’t be funny any other day, either, but Carver gives him a good long glare of warning.

 

“Oh, you found the snacks,” Felix says, pleased. The table is crammed with bowls of corn chips, the boxes of cookies stacked neat and high, and the alcohol lines the counter tops. Varric tones down the smirk when faced with Felix’s amicability.

 

“Wasn’t so hard,” he says with a wink. “Just had to use a chair to reach most of it.”

 

“Most of it,” Carver repeats and reaches up to take two more bags of chips from on top of the fridge.

 

Varric just smiles and bites into a corn chip. “We need to keep you around for something, Junior.”

 

Carver can hear Felix laughing quietly behind him. He turns around to get another bowl out of the cupboard next to him and leans in close. “And here I thought you _liked_ me stretching to reach things,” he says, low enough that only Felix can hear.

 

“Oh, I certainly do.” Felix gives him his brightest smile. And then adds a little louder, “Would you mind checking if we have any cumin left? I should be on the top shelf, amatus.”

 

Carver laughs and chooses to ignore Varric’s curious glances. He quickly looks through Felix’s collection of spices before finding the right one. There is only a little left and Felix refills it with the little packet they bought this afternoon.

 

It’s pleasant enough, with Felix cutting ingredients for his salsa and Carver filling the fridge with beer they so carelessly neglected when they got home. Varric is just about to dive into another story about one of Hawke’s misadventures, when they hear the key turning in the front door and Dorian wanders into the kitchen.

 

He eyes the marks on Felix’s neck far more blatantly than Varric did, and doesn’t even have the decency to keep a straight face.

 

“My, I didn’t realize being released from menial labor put you in such a celebratory mood, Felix.”

 

“What?”

 

“Dorian, _your_ guest is here early,” Carver cuts in, folding his arms over his chest. “We’ve been entertaining him on your behalf.”

 

“Ouch, Junior. Didn’t realize I was such a hassle.”

 

“You’re not,” Felix insists, adding a pinch of salt to the salsa before he sets it aside to wash his hands.

 

"He definitely is."

 

“I take it you two have plans for the evening, then,” Dorian says, pulling his coat off and draping it over a nearby chair. “You won’t be joining us?”

 

“What do you mean?” Felix asks, exactly when Carver says, “That’s right.”

 

They look at each other, brows raised. “Unless you wanted to,” Carver amends slowly, blinking. “I don’t intend to lose any coin to Varric tonight.”

 

“And here I thought you’d be paying for my taxi home,” Varric says, leaning back in his chair.

 

Carver thinks he’d gladly pay for a taxi for all of them if it meant getting them out of the house quicker.

 

“Oho,” Dorian says and sneaks past Felix to try the salsa. “I’m sensing a disagreement.”

 

Carver huffs but Felix just smiles and fits himself to his side. “No disagreement,” he says. “Neither of us is in much of a gambling mood tonight, I fear.”

 

Dorian leans against the counter and folds his arms, amusement clear in his eyes. “I'll bet.” He sighs theatrically. “However will I explain to my friends that they'll have to make do without your charming presence? And without Carver.”

 

Felix rolls his eyes. “Don’t be rude, Dorian. Don’t forget who went to the shop just so your friends wouldn’t starve tonight.”

 

“His friends appreciate it,” Varric says and takes another handful of corn chips out of the bowl in front of him.

 

“Will you be disappearing on us very quickly, then?” Dorian asks, exchanging a smirk with Varric. “Are you sure you don’t want to cook up something else, while you’re here?”

 

“I was asked to _tone it down_ ,” Felix reminds him archly, and in a rare moment of deviousness, nudges the bowl of salsa just out of Dorian’s reach. Carver snickers, and thinks he probably revels in Dorian’s overplayed scandalization more than even Felix.

 

“Are you making trouble for me?” he asks, putting on a somber face. “You surely won’t make me eat these dry!”

 

“I like trouble,” Felix tells him. Dorian huffs.

 

“Well, go find it elsewhere, please - I haven’t eaten all day.”

 

“I made you breakfast,” Felix reminds him, and Dorian waves him off.

 

“Don’t downplay my dramatics. It isn’t very gracious of you.”

 

“I wasn’t trying to be gracious.”

 

Dorian gasps. “The cheek of you!” He shakes his head. “This Fereldan has ruined you. You used to be so sweet.” He wipes away a fake tear. “And it seems to me you haven’t toned it down _quite_ so much.” His gaze rests on the marks on Felix’ neck and he uses his startled blinking to snatch back the bowl with a triumphant grin.

 

“I’m still sweet. Otherwise your guests wouldn’t have any food tonight.”

 

Dorian uses a corn chip to scoop up some salsa and sighs when it hits his tongue. “I take it back,” he says. “I should never have asked you to tone it down. To hell with the Southerner’s simple tastes.”

 

Varric chuckles. “I feel like I should be insulted.”

 

“If I’m right in assuming you were the one who brought this fantastic whiskey, you most certainly should not.”

 

Carver suppresses a groan, his fingers curling against the small of Felix’ back. He’s growing more impatient by the minute, irritation prickling at the back of his neck.

 

Felix’s expression doesn’t change, but he leans into Carver only in the slightest.

 

“We might join you later,” he says, elbowing Carver gently in the ribs.

 

“Yeah, maybe,” Carver says, straightening up a little, hope blossoming in his gut.

 

“We have a few movies we’ve been intending to watch,” Felix half-lies, pushing away from the counter. “But let me know if you need anything later.”

 

“Don’t actually do that,” Carver says, dogging at Felix’s heels as he makes his way out of the kitchen.

 

“Have fun, you two,” Dorian calls after them. “Enjoy your _films!”_

 

“I’ll enjoy something,” Carver says, snagging Felix by his back trouser pocket.

 

Felix laughs but only bats his hand away half-heartedly and doesn’t object at all when Carver spins him around and crowds him against the hallway wall as soon as they are out of sight and the kitchen door has fallen closed behind them.

 

“My room,” he says resolutely, but lets Carver coax him into a kiss that leaves him panting. “Now.”

 

They make it to the room but barely before Carver begins tugging impatiently at Felix’s shirt.

 

“You’d think we didn’t just do this less than an hour ago,” Felix laughs but lifts his arms so Carver can take off his shirt.

 

“What?” Carver takes him by the waist and pulls him close. “You’d rather spend time with Dorian’s friends after all?” His hands slip lower to cup his ass.

 

“Oh, you’re asking that now?” Felix noses at the side of Carver’s neck before gently scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin. “We can always go back.”

 

“Don’t you dare.” Carver nudges him towards the freshly-made bed.

 

A good hour later finds Carver with his head pillowed on Felix’s chest, the newest _Swords & Shields_ film playing on the television across the room. He can feel himself drifting lazily in that space between waking and sleep, focused more on the rise and fall of Felix’s chest than whatever’s happening on the screen.

 

He grunts and slowly slides one of his legs over Felix’s. There’s a pleasant ache in his body that spreads every time he shifts; Carver may or may not fidget for the sake of it.

 

The hand in his hair scratches lightly over his scalp, and gentles Carver further over the edge of sleep.

 

“We haven’t eaten dinner,” Felix reminds him quietly, his voice pulling him back just slightly. “I can go fetch us something.”

 

Carver grunts again, the arm slung over Felix’s stomach tightening. Felix huffs a little breath of laughter. “Aren’t you hungry?”

 

“Don’t want to move,” Carver grumbles, closing his eyes. “Not yet.”

 

“Oh, alright. Not yet.”

 

Felix’s hand slowly resumes its petting, and Carver finally manages to drift off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

He burns the eggs. Not only that, but the parts that aren’t scorched black somehow manage to stay slimy and weird. So that’s what he has to show for, after fifteen minutes of cracking and whisking and googling many different kinds of cheese and that yes, choosing the right one makes a difference. Half burned, half runny egg gloop.

 

Carver knows a lot of curses and he uses almost all of them while scraping one egg disaster after another out of the pan and into the bin. The hot pan hisses when he tosses it into the sink and with a sigh he plops down on one of the kitchen chairs. Felix’s laptop is still open on the table and he pulls it towards himself.

 

He closes the window with the website about cheese and types “how to make an omelet” into the search bar. After a second of consideration, he adds “beginners” and hits Enter. He doesn’t know if he should be glad that there is apparently a market for hopeless cases like himself, full of overly tan and smiling hobby cooks only too willing to show how much FUN cooking can be. That’s what it sounds like to him when they say it. All capital letters and bleached teeth.

 

He’s getting cynical and grumpy again, which is the opposite of what he'd intended. All he wants to do is make breakfast for Felix. Felix, who is still asleep in bed, probably under three blankets to shield him from the Southern cold. Felix who makes making an omelet look so easy.

 

Setting his jaw resolutely, Carver stands. He follows the guide to the letter, whisking his eggs, salting and peppering them - probably as much as Felix would like, though Carver can’t help but grimace.

 

He butters the pan on medium heat, and after he pours in the eggs, he watches them like a hawk for telltale signs of burning.

 

It’s awkward when he flips it, the omelette tearing a little, but so far, it’s his best attempt yet.

 

When he actually manages to slide one onto a plate without further disaster, he nearly sinks with relief. The next one looks marginally better than the first, so that one’s going to Felix.

 

With his confidence inching marginally higher at each success, Carver finally turns to the bowl of chopped onions and ham. It’s been sitting on the counter, watching all of his disasters, but now… “In you go,” he says, tipping the bowl in the pan to soak up the leftover butter and soften.

 

He pours the lot of it on top for lack of finesse, and sprinkles that with cheese. _He will have his cheese_.

 

There is coffee as well. And orange juice - freshly pressed as Felix always makes it. He somehow manages to toast a few slices of bread at the right time so they are not completely hard and cold when he finally finishes the omelets. All together assembled on the tray, it makes for a not utterly depressing sight. He doesn’t know how Felix always makes two or three more dishes and times them just right so nothing burns or gets cold.

 

But if he intended to compare himself to Felix he might as well never have started.

 

He puts on the finishing touches; a bit of cinnamon in Felix’s coffee and a small vase with flowers from the garden. He’s fairly certain the vase is actually one of Dorian’s fancy painted tea glasses but it was the only thing small enough for the handful of crocuses he found outside. He nudges one of the purple petals with his finger as if he could will it to stay pretty and upright.

 

He’s as quiet as he can be when he carries the tray back to Felix’s room. The floorboards creak underneath his feet as he inelegantly tries to press down the door handle with his elbow while not spilling anything.

 

Felix is still asleep, only his head visible from underneath a mountain of blankets. Carver feels a twinge of affection in his chest when he sees his face, soft and relaxed with his lips slightly parted. A small sliver of sunlight falls through the gap in the curtain and across his face but he doesn’t seem to mind.

 

When Carver enters and carefully puts down the tray on the nightstand, Felix stirs a bit and the mountain on top of him shifts precariously.

 

“Oy,” he says, settling on the bed beside Felix. Felix groans and tucks his face further into the blankets. Grinning, Carver tugs them back to peek at his face. “Get up, you layabout.”

 

Felix peers up at him through squinted eyes. He blinks a handful of times and ultimately decides not to respond, pressing his face against the pillows. “No, thank you. Blanket?”

 

“You’re hogging all three of them,” Carver snorts, plucking at the lobe of Felix’s ear. “C’mon, lazy arse, you’ve got to start the day sometime.

 

Felix makes a noise that’s all skepticism, and the mountain of blankets shifts as he stretches beneath them.

 

“Come back to sleep instead,” Felix offers quietly, patting at Carver’s hand. “‘s warm.”

 

“Yeah,” Carver says, leaning back, “but if I do, breakfast won’t be.”

 

“Hmm,” Felix says, and then his brow wrinkles in confusion. He doesn’t even open his eyes. “Breakfast?”

 

“At least your ears work, even if the rest of you won’t.”

 

“What’s happening?” Felix asks, his voice heavy with sleep and confusion.

 

Carver gently squeezes Felix’s hand. “I thought I’d change things up a bit. You always make breakfast. I thought you could use a break.”

 

Felix’s eyes fly open. “You made breakfast.”

 

“I did.”

 

Very, very slowly Felix peels back the mountain of blankets and props himself up on his elbow to peek around Carver to the tray on the nightstand. “You _actually_ made breakfast.”

 

Carver leans forward to press a kiss to Felix’s temple. He smells like warmth and sleep. “No need to sound so surprised.”

 

“I’m not surprised,” Felix says quickly and pulls himself into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Just…”

 

Carver laughs and hands him his coffee. “I somehow managed to feed myself before I met you.”

 

Felix gives him a look that’s a little bit more than skeptical but forgets his objections as soon as the smell of coffee wafts towards him. “Cinnamon?”

 

“Of course. I know how you take your coffee, Felix.”

 

“Ah,” Felix says and lifts Carver’s hand to brush a kiss across his knuckles. “I’m sorry. This _is_ a surprise, but a good one. Thank you.”

 

Carver resolutely does not watch Felix take the first bite of his omelet, and tucks into his own instead. It’s not bad - not precisely to his liking, but not bad. He leans back against the headboard and slowly glances over to watch Felix.

 

There’s a smile on his face, which is probably a good thing.

 

“There’s quite a lot of pepper in this,” he says, and there’s fondness in his voice, which is _definitely_ a good thing. “You can’t possibly have wanted this much.”

 

“Knew you would though,” Carver says, spearing a chunk of ham on his fork. “‘Cause you’re barmy for it.”

 

“I’m not,” Felix says, delicately sticking his fork through a green pepper, some egg, and ham all at once.

 

“You are,” Carver grins. “You’re in love with the stuff.”

 

“I’m in love with you, actually.” He takes a bite like a proper prince, polite and sophisticated even half naked with the blankets tucked around his legs and a plate full of good hardy laymen cuisine in his lap.

 

Carver doesn’t think he could love him more if he tried. He leans forward to kiss him and it’s messy and a little awkward with plates and cups and blankets between them - but completely worth it.

 

“It was my third attempt, actually,” he admits and hands Felix a second piece of bread.

 

Felix does a bad job of hiding his smile. “What happened to the first two?”

 

“They burned. Sort of. A little bit.”

 

“Well, your third attempt turned out very, very well."

 

Carver can feel himself blushing. “You’re just saying that.”

 

“I’m not.” Felix laughs and takes a sip of coffee. “I should let you do this more often. I just didn’t think you’d -”

 

“Be good at it?” Carver supplies.

 

“That you’d _enjoy_ doing it,” Felix corrects him with a little tut.

 

“I like doing things for you.”

 

Felix smiles helplessly against the rim of his mug. He’s too young for laughter lines yet, but Carver knows he’ll have them one day. Hopes he’s there to watch them grow. Hopes he’s one of the reasons for them.

 

“And I you, amatus.”

 

Carver all but inhales his breakfast, but Felix takes his time, like he’s really savoring every bite. So Carver sets his plate aside and lays himself down on his side, propping himself up on an elbow to watch Felix eat.

 

“You’re staring,” Felix informs him.

 

“Yeah,” Carver says. “You’re nice to stare at.”

 

Felix stretches over Carver to take one of the crocuses from their vase. He twirls it in his fingers for a moment before batting Carver on the nose.

 

“You’re very romantic this morning,” he says, and tucks the crocus behind Carver’s ear.

 

“I’m plenty romantic every morning.”

 

“Exceptionally so, today.”

 

“I saw these in the garden and they made me think of you,” Carver says, with one hand carefully feeling the crocus behind his ear.

 

Felix smiles. “How so?”

 

“They’re crocuses.” When Felix just blinks at him, he continues, “I checked. They are not the expensive kind you put in food. But they're still pretty, I think.”

 

“Oh, Carver,” Felix says, his voice thick with affection. He leans forward to cup the side of his face with one hand and kisses him. “I think we’d be very rich indeed if we had saffron crocuses growing in the backyard.”

 

“I didn’t actually think that,” Carver grumbles but places a quick kiss to Felix’ wrist before he can pull away. “Besides, you’d just put it in everything. Flowers in the soups, flowers in the coffee, flowers in my birthday cake…”

 

Felix laughs and finishes the last bit of his food. “You overestimate my love for saffron.” He hands Carver the empty plate. “Now come here so I can thank you properly.”

 

Carver sets the plate on top of his own before he rolls over Felix, dipping down to kiss him. Felix laughs, cupping his face with both hands.

 

“I’m meant to thank _you_ now, remember?”

 

“You are,” Carver insists, laying enough of his weight on Felix to make him wheeze. “Just laying there looking pretty is thanks enough.”

 

“I insist you ask for something else,” Felix groans, patting at his back. Carver sighs, and rolls to Felix’s side instead.

 

“Well,” he says. “If you _insist._ ”

 

“You’re heavy,” Felix tells him, rolling onto his side to face him. He palms up Carver’s arms and over his chest appreciatively. “All muscle. I’m weak to it.”

 

“Flatterer.” Carver leans forward, slotting his leg between Felix’s.

 

“I am an honest man.”

 

“Except when it comes to critiquing my food,” Carver sighs.

 

“I didn't lie!” Felix taps his forehead to Carver’s. “Stop fishing for compliments.”

 

“Maybe I just like when you tell me I’ve done good,” Carver says with a little smile.

 

Felix laughs and plants a little kiss at the corner of his mouth. “You always do.”

 

Carver pulls him in to kiss him properly, one hand on the small of his back. Felix tastes bitter and peppery, but it doesn‘t deter Carver in the slightest. He’s still warm and soft from sleep and Carver pulls one of the blankets from the heap behind him to cover Felix with it.

 

“I didn’t plan to go back to sleep,” Felix mumbles between kisses and rolls his hips against Carver to emphasize his point.

 

“Don’t want you to get cold,” Carver replies and tugs at the blanket.

 

“I can think of other ways to ensure that doesn’t happen.” Carver doesn’t have time to so much as gasp when Felix has already wrapped his leg around him and flipped him on his back. Carver grabs Felix’ thighs to keep him steady and blinks up at him.

 

“I thought you’d be sleepier than this.”

 

“I said I meant to thank you properly, didn’t I?” Felix smile is perfectly innocent as he spreads his fingers across Carver’s chest and leans down to nip at his bottom lip.

 

Carver draws his nails over Felix‘s stubbled jaw, huffing a breath of laughter against his temple when Felix moves to kiss down Carver‘s neck. “I didn‘t know cooking for you was such a turn on. Why didn‘t you say?”

 

Felix chuckles against his pulse. “I couldn‘t possibly tell you how many things you do turn me on. If we‘re going to be here all day, I‘d rather keep us occupied with something more... engaging.”

 

“Are you daft?” Carver spreads his hands over Felix‘s thighs in a way he knows he likes. “Of course I want that list. I‘d gladly take it now.”

 

“Or you could take me,” Felix suggests, before he sucks a mark into Carver‘s neck, hard. He takes his time too, sinking his teeth in with care in a way that leaves Carver twisting, hips jerking up against nothing.

 

Carver bruises easily; that‘s gonna be there for days, loud and dark, and Felix knows it.

 

“I’ll never hear the end of this,” Carver says and touches the mark once Felix moves on to the other side. It hurts a little when he presses his fingers against it, just a dull ache, not unlike the one twisting in his belly when Felix scrapes his teeth along the skin on the other side of his neck.

 

“I like the reminder,” Felix says, sits up and reaches down ruck up Carver’s shirt. “Remembering exactly what you looked like.” He runs his hands up his chest until his thumbs brush over Carver’s nipples, making him twitch. “What you sounded like.”

 

Carver lets his hands wander up until he can cup Felix’s ass and gives him a small push. With a little yelp, Felix sprawls across his chest, bracing himself with his arms in the last second. His face is flushed and close enough that Carver only needs to lift his head a little bit to kiss him.

 

Felix’s lips and tongue are sweet against his, the weight of his body comforting. “I want you,” Carver says when Felix turns his head a bit to give him access to his jaw and neck.

 

“Good.” Felix wiggles a bit against Carver’s crotch and laughs breathlessly at the sound it draws from him.

 

“Take off your sweats.”

 

Felix is only to happy to oblige. Carver runs his hands over the exposed skin, smooth and dark and breathtakingly beautiful to him every single time.

 

“Fucking gorgeous,” Carver says, and Felix grins, taking the crocus slipping out from behind Carver‘s ear.

 

“You‘re a sight yourself,” he says, tapping the flower against Carver‘s lips. Then he drags it over his chin and down his throat. “A terribly handsome sight.”

 

“Oh, go on,” Carver mumbles, feeling himself go red in the face.

 

“Gladly,” Felix says, slowly rotating his hips. He tucks the flower into Carver‘s hair and draws his nails down Carver‘s belly. “Look at you. Perfect. Gorgeous, Carver Hawke, and all for me.”

 

“I take it back. This is ridiculous.”

 

“It isn‘t,” Felix hums, leaning down to press a kiss at the center of his chest. “My sweet Carver. _Carissimus_. Beloved of my heart. Lovely boy.”

 

“I‘m older than you are,” Carver laughs, rubbing at his burning cheeks.

 

Felix pokes him in the side, his laughter hot against his skin. “Will you let me do this?”

 

“Sorry,” Carver mumbles and forces himself to not cover his eyes with his hands. “Continue, please.” He keeps his gaze on Felix instead, a preferable sight to be sure.

 

Felix smiles at him, all brightness and affection. “There is no one like you.” He runs his hands up Carver’s sides and back over his chest. “So thoughtful and sweet and good to me.” His smiles turns mischievous when his hands wander over Carver’s shoulders and he curls his finger around his upper arms. “So strong.”

 

Carver laughs and uses the opportunity to return his hands to Felix’ thighs, squeezing just lightly.

 

Felix leans forwards, peppering Carver’s chest and neck with featherlight kisses until he reaches the spot right below his ear. Tevene spills from his lips, low and soft. Carver doesn’t need to understand the words to get the meaning, warmth spreading through his entire body with every syllable.

 

“And when you’re inside me…” Felix gently nips at his earlobe. “There is nothing like it.”

 

“I love you,” Carver blurts, probably red as a tomato and just as attractive. But Felix just smiles.

 

“And I love you.” He knots his fingers with Carver’s and lifts them to kiss his knuckles. Slowly, slowly, he shifts his hips, and leaves Carver gasping. “How lucky I’ve been, all this time, to have you.”

 

“ _Felix_ ,” Carver breathes, lifting his own hips for more.

 

But Felix carries on with his pace, and with his words. “Lucky me to have you, and your long, gorgeous legs, and your lovely smile, and your terrible sense of humor.” He releases Carver’s hands, and they fly to his hips, trying to keep him still or move him - Carver does not know. “You make my coffee just the way I like it. My sweet Carver.”

 

“Fucking - fuck, Felix, you -”

 

“And you long fingers,” Felix sighs, reaching down between his legs to take Carver in hand, “and your _massive_ cock.”

 

“ _Please_ , love -”

 

“Yes,” Felix says, planting one hand on Carver’s chest. “Love. I love everything about you.”

 

He pumps him with long, agonizingly slow strokes, his eyes never leaving Carver’s. His lips are wet and slightly parted and when Carver makes a sound that’s embarrassingly close to a whine, they curl into a little smile.

 

It’s too much.

 

With a grunt, Carver sits up, his hands sliding behind Felix’s back to keep him steady. Felix gasps and lets go of Carver’s cock to hold on to his shoulders. He laughs, his eyes shining with glee. “Carver!”

 

Carver kisses him hungrily, his fingers digging into his back to hold him close. “If you keep this up I won’t hold on much longer.” He looks at him. “And that wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

 

Felix's eyes are wide and dark, all pupil and desire. “Then please do what you set out to do before I so rudely interrupted you.”

 

“ _So_ rude.” Carver delights in Felix’s little yelp when he flips them over and even more in the breathless laughter that follows. He looks down at his flushed face, his arms bracketing his head.

 

“Kiss me,” Felix says so Carver kisses him.

 

Thanks to Felix, his own pajama bottoms are already halfway down to his knees, so Carver kicks them off completely.

 

Once he’s naked, he places a kiss of Felix’s hipbone. “I’m going to fuck you,” he announces. It’s supposed to be sultry but he’s just too goddamn happy so it probably sounds more giddy than anything else. It’s all good though, as long as Felix looks at him like this - endlessly fond and so, so in love.

 

“By all means,” Felix says, stretching his arms out above his head. He snickers, and for a brief moment Carver doesn’t know why until something shifts in his hair and the crocus falls onto Felix’s belly with a soft little noise. Carver frowns at it for all of a second before he shrugs and ducks back down to his duties.

 

“You hold onto that for me.”

 

It stays on Felix’s stomach when Carver has him vibrating with the marks he sucks into his inner thighs. It stays when Carver sucks his cock down, and all Felix can do is gasp and jerk. It stays even when Carver pushes one of Felix’s knees up toward his chest to stretch him open, one slick finger at a time.

 

Carver makes sure to rescue it before he lowers Felix’s leg with a kiss to the side of his knee, and tucks it behind his ear himself.

 

“Flip over, love.”

 

Felix is eager to comply, very nearly bowling Carver over with his legs askance. Carver grins and smooths his hands down the dark expanse of Felix’s back. He’s speckled with moles from his shoulders to his hips to the backs of his thighs. There’s one even on the rising curve of his backside, and Carver gives into the temptation to give it a nip. He’s rewarded with a little jump and a hiss, Felix laughing noiselessly as he reaches back to swat at Carver.

 

“I thought you had a plan here,” Felix says and wiggles his ass a bit.

 

“Not my fault that you're so distracting.” Carver soothes the bite with a little kiss and makes his way up Felix back just for good measure. He cannot possibly kiss every mole and freckle on Felix’ body - not before Felix would die of frustration. So he just picks out a few choice ones, all the while running one hand up the inside of Felix’s thigh.

 

He doesn’t need to nudge at all before Felix spreads his legs a little wider, a pleased moan escaping him as soon as Carver replaces two of his fingers. The moan turns into something a little needier when Carver crooks his fingers just so.

 

“You ready for me, love?”

 

“I _have_ been fo-” Another crook of Carver’s fingers cuts him short, his back arching. “Carver, please…”

 

Carver smiles and places a small kiss in between Felix’ shoulder blades before replacing his fingers with his cock, pushing in slowly. He goes for slow, short strokes that have Felix gasping, sinking in a little bit further every time. By the time he is fully seated, both of them are panting.

 

One of Felix’s hands is gripping the bed sheet and Carver moves to cover it with his, interlacing their fingers. He kisses Felix’s shoulder, his whole body trembling.

 

“Please, amatus.”

 

Carver rolls his hips, rocks into Felix who muffles his moan into the crook of his arm.

 

The rhythm he sets is slow, and as an afterthought, Carver pulls back after a few short thrusts. Felix makes a noise of protestation when Carver’s weight along his back disappears, and he presses a quick kiss between his shoulder blades before he pulls out with a grunt.

 

“You’re a monster,” Felix groans into his arm. Carver chuckles shortly, grabbing a pillow from the floor where they’ve been kicked off. It’s an easy thing to lift Felix’s hips and stuff it under. “Oh,” he sighs, all but purring when Carver slides back into him, “not a monster.”

 

“You’re too kind,” Carver laughs against the back of his neck, kissing him there as he resumes his pace.

 

Felix reaches for his hand this time, and squeezes his fingers once they’re all entwined.

 

Heat flickers up Carver’s spine when Felix spreads his legs a little wider, pushing up on his knees just enough to meet him, like he can’t stop moving when Carver’s inside him.

 

Carver groans. “Fuck… Felix, Felix-”

 

He can hear and feel Felix laughing, even through all of this, delighted. When Carver picks up the pace, he all but cries out, once again muffling the sound against his arm. He’s still loud - every sound shooting straight through Carver.

 

There is something dizzying about the way Felix loses himself in bed. Usually so quiet and collected, he moans with abandon as Carver fucks into him, slowly at first and then faster and faster. How Carver’s name falls from his lips, again and again, and then finally, a string of Tevene, more gasped than spoken.

 

Felix shudders and shouts into the crook of his arm, taking Carver by surprise at the telltale tautness of his body. He tightens around Carver, and Carver hisses, panting against Felix’s shoulder.

 

“Alright?” he gasps, pulling one hand out of Felix’s to reach between his pelvis and the pillow. Sure enough, he finds a mess, and he carefully palms Felix’s slick, softening cock. Felix whines shortly, and Carver hushes him with another quick kiss to his shoulder. “I didn’t even touch you.”

 

“Didn’t have to,” Felix mumbles, tightening around Carver again, pointedly. “Don’t stop.”

 

It doesn’t take long after that, with Felix still hot and tight around him and the sounds he draws from him with every snap of his hips. Carver comes with his face pressed in the crook of Felix’s neck, every muscle in his body taut and every sense of him overwhelmed with Felix.

 

He’s too weak, his arms too shaky to hold him up, and he’s too heavy to just rest on top of Felix for long, so he rolls over, despite Felix’ little whine at the sudden loss. His hand searches for Carver’s and their fingers entwine again once he’s found it.

 

“I love you,” Felix says, his voice quiet and Carver turns his head to look at him. He’s still flushed but his expression is soft as if he’s close to sleep once more. It takes all of Carver’s willpower to get out of bed to get them cleaned up. He gives himself a few more minutes to calm his breathing and to watch Felix.

 

When he returns from the bathroom with a warm washcloth in hand, Felix is all but asleep but lets himself be rolled over and cleaned without much protest. He watches Carver through hooded eyes, a little smile on his face.

 

“You’re so sweet to me,” he sighs. “My sweet, sweet Carver.” And once Carver has discarded both washcloth and the pillow, Felix reaches out to him with a lazy hand. “Come back to bed, amatus.”

 

Carver tosses the filthy pillow to the floor to be dealt with later, and nudges Felix onto his side, pressing himself close to his back. It feels a little silly, spooning him at the foot of the bed with the pillows on the floor, but Carver’s made room in his life for quite a lot of silliness now.

 

He kisses Felix’s shoulder, cooling sweat and all, and tucks himself closer to keep him warm when he doesn’t think he has the strength to pull the blankets over them both.

 

“Thank you for breakfast,” Felix says, stroking Carver’s wrist with a thumb. Carver just grins and closes his eyes.

 

“Oh, did you like that? I really couldn’t tell.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Abyssal Peach
> 
> Not so much filtered as dredged. Should be kept in a cold, dark place. Also locked. Forgotten as well, if one is wise.]
> 
>  
> 
> Inquire about fic requests [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/ask)  
> If you are so inclined, feel free to follow [mywordsflyup](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com/)'s & [Byacolate's Tumblr](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).


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